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ALONE. 


BY MAEION HARLAND 


•O* 



OP RICHMOND, VIRGINIA. 




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“ Through long, long years , to seek, to strive, to yearn 
For human love,— and never quench that thirst 
To pour the soul out winning no return — 

O^er fragile idols, by delusions nursed, — 

On things that fail us, reed by reed, to lean, 

To mourn the changed, the far-away, the dead, 

To send our troubled spirits through the unseen 
Intensely questioning for treasures fled.'’ 

Hemans. 


FIFTH EDITION. 



RICHMOND : 

PUBLISHED BY A. MORRIS. 

1854 . 

2 » . 


• 

■ 3 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, 

BY A. MORRIS, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the rjni*.ed States for the 
Eastern District of Virginia. 


SOURCE UNKNOWN 
MAY 2 8 1S25 




DEDICATION. 


€n .36intljBr niiii liHiir. 


It ia meet that those whose sympathy has been dew and sunshine to the 
nursery plant, should watch over its transplantation into the public garden. 
And as this Dedication is the only portion of the book which is new to you, 
you do not require that it should remind you of the welcome stormy evenings, 
vrhen I laid down my pen, to read to you the chapters written since our last 
“select party j” how the fictitious names of my real characters were house- 
hold words to our trio : and your flattering interest — grateful because sincere 
— stimulated my flagging spirits in the performance of my task. You know, 
too, what many may not believe — with what misgivings it was entered upon, 
and prosecuted ; what fears of the licensed critic’s ban, and the wnlicensed 
public’s cneer ; — above all you comprehend the motive that held me to the 
work — an earnest desire to contribute my mite for the promotion of the 
happiness and usefulness of my kind. Coming as it does from my heart — penned 
under the shadow of our home-altar, I cannot but feel that the mission of my 
offering is to the hearts of others, — ask for it no higher place than the fireside 
circle. Readers and judges like yourselves, I may not, do not hope to findi 
but I trust there are those who will pardon the lack of artistic skill in the 
plot, or the deficiency of stirring incident, in consideration of the fact, that 
my story is what it purports to be, a simple tale of life — common joy and 
sorrow, whose merits, if it has any, consist in its truthfulness to Nature, 
and the fervent spirit which aniidated its narration. 

MARION HARLAND. 


Richmond, lt54. 








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ALONE. 


CHAPTEK I. 

The Sermon was over ; the funeral psalm chanted brokenly, 
by reason of quick-drawn sobs, and bursts of tender remem- 
brance ; the heart’s tribute to the memory of the departed. 
‘‘ The services will be concluded at the grave,” pronounced the 
clergyman in an unwilling voice; and a shuddering awe fell, 
as it ever does, upon all. '<^The grave !” Even in the presence 
of the sheeted dead, listening to the rehearsal of excellences 
lost to earth, — set as living stars in a firmament of unchanging 
splendor; — we cannot comprehend the dread reality of bereave- 
ment. Earth smiles the same; familiar faces surround us; 
and if the absence of one is painfully noted, the soul would 
fain delude itself with the belief that its departure is not 
forever; — << he is not dead, but sleepeth.” But << the Grave I” 
These two words convey an irrevocable sentence. We feel for 
the first time the extent of the gulf that separates us from the 
clay, beloved, although inanimate ; — the dissevering of every 
bond of companionship. For us the earth has, as before, its 
griefs, its joys and its duties ; — for the dear one — but a grave ! 
The story of a life is ended there. The bearers advanced and . 
took up the . coffin. They were no hired officials, performing 
their work with ill-concealed indifierence, or faces robed in 
borrowed lugubriousness; but old family servants, who had 
sported with the deceased in infancy ; faithfully served her in 
later years, and had now solicited, and obtained this mournful 
privilege. Tears coursed down their dusky cheeks as they 
lifted their burden and bore it forth from the portal which 
seemed to grow darker, as she, the light of the dwelling, quitted 
it, to return no more. They wound through the flowery labyrinth 
whose mazes were her care and delight. The dews of evening 

1 * ( 5 ) 


6 


ALONE. 


were beginning to descend upon the thirsting petals, and in the 
breezeless air hung, in an almost visible cloud, the grateful 
return of spicy and languishable odors. A tall rose tree drooped 
over the path, and as the bearers brushed by its stem, a shower, 
like perfumed snow-flakes, lay . upon the pall. The end of the 
journey was* reached j a secluded and beautiful spot in the lower 
part of the garden, where were many mounds clustered together 
— graves of a household. A weeping willow, years before, a 
little shoot, planted by the hand of the wife to mark her 
husband’s resting-place, now grown into a stately tree, swept its 
feathery pendants above her pillow. The cords were lashed 
around the coffin, and the word given to lower it into the pit ^ 
when — with a shriek that stilled the blood of the bystanders — 
a slight figure darted forward, and , clasped it in her arms. 

Mother ! oh mother I come back 1” Men of iron nerve bowed 
in childlike weakness, and wept, as this desolate cry rent the air. 
She spoke not another word, but lay, her cheek to the cold 
wood, enclosing the colder form, and her fingers interlocked in a 
vice-like grasp. Ida ! my child !” said the old minister, 
bending to raise her ; She is not here. She is with her God. 
Can you wish her. again upon this sinful earth His consola- 
tion was addressed to an ear as dull as that of the corpse. In 
that outburst of frenzied supplication, consciousness had left her. 

It is best so !” said the venerable man. << She could not have 
borne it else.’ 

The ceremony was concluded — ^<dust to dust — ashes to 
ashes — and the crowd turned sorrowfully away. It was. not 
in pity for the orphan alone. There were none there who could 
not recount some deed of love or charity done by her, whom 
they had given to the earth. Since the deaths of a fondly loved 
partner and three sweet children, Mrs. Ross had sought balm 
for her wounds, by binding up those of others. Environed by 
neighbours, whose position and means were more humble than 
her own, she had ample exercise for her active benevolence ; — 
benevolence evincing itself, — not in studied graciousness and 
lavish almsgiving, but in kindly sympathy, and those nanae- 
less offices of friendship, so easily rendered, so dear to the reci- 
pient. . << Her children shall rise up and call her blessed,” was 
the text of her funeral discourse, and the pastor but uttered the 


ALONE. 


7 


feelings of bis auditory, when he called the community in which 
her blameless life had been passed, her family — loving her, and 
through her, united together in bonds of fraternal affection. In 
this genial clime, had Ida Ross been nurtured ; — beloved for her 
mother’s sake, as for the warm impulses of her generous nature ; 
petted and indulged; yet obeying the least expression of her 
parent’s wishes, not in slavish fear, but a devotion amounting to 
worship. She had no companions of her own age who were her 
equals in education or refinement, and from intimate connection 
with vulgarity she shrank instinctively. Her pride was not 
offensively displayed. No one could live in the sphere of which 
Mrs. Ross was the ruling power and feel aught like supercilious- 
ness or contempt of inferiors. From infancy, Ida was her mo- 
ther’s companion; at an early age her confidante and co-adviser; 
had read her pure heart as a richly illuminated missal, from 
which self-examination and severe criticism had expunged what- 
ever could sully ot disfigure. Can we marvel that she shrined 
her in her heart of hearts as a being more than human — scarcely 
less than divine ? 

'^That mysterious Providence who guides the fowler’s messen- 
ger of death to the breast of the parent bird, leaving the callow 
nestling to perish with hunger, recalled the mother’s spirit ere 
her labor of love was completed. Ida was an orphan in her fif- 
teenth year ; — the age of all others when a mother’s counsels are 
needed; — when the child stands tremblingly upon the thres 
hold of girlhood, and looks with wondering, wistful eyes into the 
rosy vista opened to her sight. Babes in knowledge, nine girls 
out of ten are grown in heart at fifteen. A stroke, whether of 
extraordinary joy or sorrow, will oftentimes demolish the gew- 
gaws of the child, and reveal instead, the patient endurance, the 
steady faith, the all-absorbing love of a woman. A week had 
passed — a week devoted by the bereaved to thoughts of, and 
weepings for the lost, by others to preparations for her residence 
among strangers. Years might elapse before her return. That 
night, as stealthily as though seeking a forbidden spot, she trod 
the path to her mother’s grave. It was clear starlight, and she 
sat down beside the newly sodded mound, and rested her brow 
upon it. Cold — cold and hard ! but it entombed her mother ; — • 
aye ! and her heart ! for what had she to love now ? There was 


8 


ALONE. 


no loving breast to receive that aching head ; — no solace for the 
wounded spirit. The dew-gems lay freshly upon the grass ; — 
for her the dewiness of life was gone ; — earth was one vast sepul- 
chre. She looked up to the stars. In the summer evenings her 
mother’s chair used to stand in the piazza, and she sat at her 
feet, her eyes fixed alternately upon her angelic face, and the 
shining orbs above them. Mrs. Ross loved to think of them as 
the abodes of the blest; the mansions prepared for those who 
had sojourned in this sin -stained world and yet worn their white 
robes unblemished; and the theory was confidently adopted by 
the imaginative child. She drank in descriptions of the glories 
of those celestial regions until her straining eyes seemed to catch 
a glimpse of a seraph’s glittering robe, and she leaned breath- 
lessly forward to hear the music of his golden harp. But to- 
night the sparkling smiles of those effulgent ones, forever sing- 
ing as they shine,” were changed to pitying regards as they 
beheld her so sad and lonely; — the gleam of the seraph’s wings 
was dimmed ; his far-off melody plaintive and low, and the bur- 
den of his song was alone.” The wind waved the willow- 
boughs, and a whispering ran through the leaves — Alone — 
alone!” The words were so audibly breathed that the girl 
started in her delirious sorrow, and gazed wildly around. Oh 
mother I cannot you leave Heaven for one short minute to com- 
fort your child? Who will love her now? Alone, all alone I 
mother ! dear mother I” 


ALONE. 


9 


CHAPTEE II. 

Two persons sat in the parlor of a handsome house situated 
in a pleasant street of the capital of our Old Dominion. The 
afternoon of a summer’s day was deepening into twilight, but the 
waning light sufficed to show the features of the occupants. 
There was no hazard in pronouncing them father and daughter. 
The square forehead, indicative rather of keenness of perception 
and shrewd sense, than high intellectual faculties ; the full, grey 
eye ; flexible lips, and heavily moulded chin were the ^ame in 
both, although softened in the younger, until her face might 
have been deemed pretty, had the observer omitted to remark an 
occasional steel-like spark, struck from the clear eyes, and a com- 
pression of the mouth, betokening a sleeping demon whom it 
would be dangerous to arouse from his lair. A turbulent light 
flashed there now. She had thrown her-self into the corner of a 
sofa, after many restless wanderings through the apartment, and the 
shapely foot, oscillating rapidly, beat with its toe, a tattoo agitato 
upon the floor. Her father was immersed in thought or apathy ; 
she repeated a question in a voice which savored of peevishness, 
before he withdrew his eyes from the watch-key, the twirling of 
which had been his occupation for a quarter of an hour. ^^At 
what hour will your ward arrive, sir ?” 

She must be here in a short time. They have travelled 
slowly. The journey might have been accomplished as well in 
one day, as two.” 

You said her escort was a clergyman, I think. Gentlemen 
of the cloth are not famous for inconveniencing themselves to 
gratify others,” responded the young lady. They inveigh 
against the emptiness and vanity of sublunary things; yet I 
know no class of men who enjoy < creature comforts’ more.” 

<< Confounded humbugs !” was the rejoinder, and a muttered 
something about priest-craft” and blind leaders of the blind ” 
finished the sentence so charitably begun. 

Another pause was ended by the daughter. Miss Eoss’ 


10 


ALONE. 


father was an early friend of yours, — a college chum, — was he 
not V’ 

He was, — and a clever fellow into the bargain •” said her 
father, with a touch of feeling in his tone. At his death, he 
left to me the management of his child’s property, — (a snug 
operation I have made of it, too !) In the event of the mother’s 
decease, I was appointed sole guardian, an office for which, it 
must be said, I have little partiality. If Mrs. Ross had given 
her up to me ten years ago, I might of made something of her; 
but she said a mother was the proper guide for her daughter. 
Women are wonderfully self-sufficient, — always undertaking what 
it would puzzle sensible men to do, and perfectly satisfied wkh 
the styl^ in which it is done.” If there was any meaning in the 
severity of this remark, the face and voice of the listener 
betrayed no consciousness. 

How old is Miss Ross 

What is your age?” and seeing her hesitate — What does 
the Family Bible sa> ? I want no school-girl airs.” 

I am fifteen sir,” raising her eyes coolly to his. 

“ And she is two months younger. A pretty time I shall 
have for six years ; unless she takes it into her head to marry 
before she is of age. Very probably she will; for her fortune, 
although small, is large enough to attract some fool, too lazy to 
work, and too ambitious to remain poor.” 

Is she pretty ?” 

<< How should I know ? I only saw her at her mother’s 
funeral, where she got up quite a scene — fainting and such like. 
I came away the next day, and she was still too unwell to leave 
her room, they said.” 

(( Romantically inclined ! Pity she should be doomed to 
uncongenial associations !” 

You would indeed have profited little by my instructions if 
your mind were infected by these Whimsies,” said her parent, 
with a self-gratutalory air. I pride myself upon your 
superiority to the generality of your sex, at least, in this re- 
spect” — 

There is a carriage at the door,” interrupted the other, in an 
unvarying tone, and without changing her posture. The host 
met, in the entry, an elderly gentleman and a young girl, whom 


ALONE. 


11 


he saluted as “Mr. Hair^ and « Miss Ross/^ introducing them 
to <‘Miss Read, my daughter/^ Ida glanced timidly into the 
face of her guardian, and then hastily scanned that of his daugh- 
ter. That the scrutiny was unsatisfactory, was to be read in the 
deeper sadness that fell over her countenance, while the sinking 
lashes, and trembling lip showed, how sharp was the disappoint- 
ment. Youthful and inexperienced as she was, her heart told her, 
that the bruised tendrils which had been torn from their original 
support could never learn to twine around these gelid statues. 

“ You will remain to tea, Mr. Hall,” said Mr. Read, as the 
good clergyman arose. 

« I thank you, sir ; but our journey has been fatiguing owing 
to the extreme heat. I find myself in need of rest, — and my 
charge here requires it more than I do.” 

<< You will call before you leave the city. May we not hope 
for the pleasure of your company to dinner to-morrow ?” 

The invitation was accepted ; and after a silent pressure of 
the hand from Ida, and a courtly bow from father and daughter, 
Mr. Hall took his leave. 

“ Miss Ross would perhaps like to make some alteration in 
her dress, Josephine,” Mr. Read saidj his manner testifying 
how necessary he esteemed the proposed measure. Miss Read 
rang for a light, and signified to Ida that she was ready to show 
her up stairs. Any change from the bleak formality of their 
presence was a relief ; and she longed to be alone, if but for half 
an hour ; that she might give way to the emotions which had 
been rising and beating, through the livelong day, choking and 
blinding her. But Miss Read summoned a servant, whom she 
ordered to wait upon Miss Ross, now and in future ; and seated 
herself in a rocking-chair to watch the progress of the toilette. 
Mechanically Ida went through the torture of dressing. There 
are times when it is such ; — when the manifold details, hereto- 
fore so engaging, are to the preoccupied and suffering mind, 
like the thorn of the prickly-pear, too small to be observed, but 
pricking burningly in every fibre and pore It was a woman — 
a sister — a girl as young as herself — perhaps as tender-hearted, 
who sat there. Why not, with the unrepressed sorrowfulness 
of a child, bury her face in her lap, and sob, << I have lost my 
mother !” to be fondled and comforted into composure ? It 


12 


ALONE. 


would be sacrilege to ruffle the elegant propriety of her figure ; 
and the glassy eyes said, by their tearless stare, — Between 
you and me there is a great gulf fixed!” One weakness Ida 
could not overcome ; the repugnance to beholding herself in her 
mourning garments. They as yet reminded her too vividly of 
the bier and the pall. She averted her eyes, as she stood before 
the mirror, to put the finishing stroke to her apparel. << I beg 
your pardon, said the calm voice of Josephine. Your collar 
is all awry. Permit me” — Ida submitted in silence, while 
her volunteer assistant unpinned, and re-arranged the crape 
folds, but as she gathered them under the mourning brooch, 
a tear, large and pellucid, dropped upon her hand. It was but 
a drop of salt water to Miss Bead, and she wiped it off, as she 
asked her guest to walk down to tea.” To the new-comer, the 
palatable food was as the apples of Sodom — bitter ashes. She 
could not swallow or speak. Her companions ate and chatted 
with great gusto. The ill-humour of an hour since had passed 
away. This exemplary daughter was her fathers idol, when 
contrasted with other, and less favored girls. She was formed 
in his image, and when the plastic mind was wax to receive, and 
^amant to retain impressions, he moulded it after a pattern of 
his own. He taught her deceit, under the name of self-control ; 
heartlessness, he called prudence; veiled distrust and misan- 
thropy under clear-sightedness and knowledge of human nature. 
All those holy and beautiful feelings which evidence to man his 
kindred to his Divine model and Creator, he tossed aside, with 
the sweeping condemnation — romance and nonsense!” The 
crying sin was to be womanish;” — woman” and fool” were 
synonymes, used indiscriminately to express the superlative of 
ire-exciting folly. He delighted in showing things as they 
were. Men were machines, moved by secret springs of policy 
and knavery; the world a stage, viewed by others in the decep- 
tive glare of artificial lights, and so made attractive. He had 
penetrated into the mysteries behind the curtain, and examined, 
in the unflattering day, the clumsy contrivances, gaudy daubing 
and disgustful hollowness of the whole. Fancy and the pleasures 
of imagination were empty, bombastic names; he would have 
seen in Niagara only a sizeable fall, and << calculated,” amidst 
the rushing shout of its mighty waters, as to the number of 


ALONE. 


13 


cotton-mills it would turn, and the thousands it would net him, 
could he transport it, patent right secured, to Virginia. He tore 
the cloud-covering from the storm-god’s brow, and beheld a roar- 
ing, vaporing giant, whose insane attacks might be warded off 
by philosophical precautions, and discretion in the disposition of 
lightning rods.^ 

The party returned to the parlor. << You play, I presume, 
Miss Ross said her guardian. Inexpressibly hurt by this 
new proof of insensibility to her situation, Ida faltered an 
excuse of fatigue and want of practice ; and with a very per- 
ceptible shrug, he addressed his daughter. What apology 
have ^ou, Josephine T* She replied by going to the instrument, 
but had just taken her seat, when the door opened to admit 
three visitors — two school-fellows of Miss Read’s, and their 
brother. The Misses and Mr. Talbot” were presented in due 
form to the stranger, who had risen to leave the room. Jose- 
phine saw the movement, and arrested it by the introduction. 
No attention was paid to her; and in the midst of the lively 
conversation, she seized an opportunity to speak aside to Jose- 
phine. ^<I wish to retire, if you please.” Josephine started. 
If not so measured, the tone was as haughty as hers, at its 
proudest pitch. With a word of apology to her guests, she led 
the way into the hall, and lighted a lamp. Ida took it from 
her. “ I will go up without you. Good night.” She walked 
up the staircase with a steady step, for she was. folio wed by a 
gaze of wonderment* and anger; but when her chamber was 
gained, she sprang through the door — locked and double locked 
it, and dashed herself upon the floor. A hurricane raged within 
her — grief, outraged feeling and desperation. The grave had 
gorged her past, black walls of ice bounded the future. Mean- 
while the sound of jocund voices came up through the flooring; 
bursts of laughter; and then music; brilliant waltzes and tri- 
umphant marches, to where the orphan lay sobbing, not weeping, 
with hysterical violence ; her hands clenched upon her temples, 
through which each convulsion sent a pang that forced from her 
a moan of anguish. 

« She is a weak, foolish baby ! it will take an immensity of 
schooling to make her endurable;” said Mr. Read, when the 
guests had gone. 


2 


14 


ALONE. 


<< She has temper enough, in all' conscience rejoined Jose- 
phine, and she related the scene preceding her withdrawal. 

<<Bad! bad!” ejaculated the senior, with a solemn shake of 
the head. I admire spirit in a girl ; but a woman should have 
no temper !” 


CHAPTEK III. 

In a crowded school-room, on a glorious October morning, a 
student was penning, with slow and heavy fingers, an Italian 
exercise. A physiognomist's eye would have wandered with 
comparative carelessness over the faces, — so various in feature 
and character — ^by which she was surrounded, and found in 
hers, subject for curious speculation; wondering at the contra- 
dictory evidence her countenance and form gave of her age ; the 
one, sombre in its thoughtfulness, its dark eyes piercing through 
his, into his soul, said twenty — perhaps thirty — the lithe figure 
and rounded limbs, sixteen ; but most, he would have marvelled 
at the listlessuess of her attitude; the lack of interest in her 
occupation and external objects, when every line, in brow, eyes 
and mouth, bespoke energy; a spirit strong to do or dare; and 
which, when in arms, would achieve its purpose, or perish in the 
attempt. The hand moved more and more, sluggishly, and the 
page was marred by blots and erasures. Thought had the 
crayon, and dark were the shades that fell upon the canvass. 

Seventeen to-day ! Who remembers that it is my birth-day ? 
There are none here to know or care. If I were to die to-mor- 
row, there is not a creature who would shed a tear above my 
corpse. I wish I could die I They say such thoughts are 
sinful, but annihilation is preferable to an aimless, loveless 
existence. Oh 1 this intolerable aching, yearning, for affection 
— it is eating into my soul ! gnawing, insatiable longing I can 
I not quiet you for an instant ? I have intellect — genius — so 
says the world. I have sacrificed to knowledge, reason and 
poesy; — praying, first, for happiness, then comfort, then forget- 


ALONE. 


15 


fulness — to cast myself down, the same heart-sick, famished 
creature ! Our examination was an imposing affair. The 41ite 
of intelligence and fashion honored us with their presence. The 
prizes for which others had expended sleepless nights and toil- 
some days, were for me, who had scarcely put forth an effort; 
and as the music swelled out to celebrate my victory — blent 
with the applause of my critics, my heart beat I I had not felt 
it before for a long, long time, — and as in a lightning flash, I 
saw what I might — what I would have been, had the sunshine 
of love been continued to me. But the pitchy cloud rolled over 
the dazzling opening, and I was again a stranded wreck upon a 
barren shingle — the wailing monotone of the deep in my ear. I 
read to them, that a tile was once cast upon an acanthus root, 
and the hardy plant thrust its arms in every direction, until 
they felt the light, then coiled in spiral waves, to convert its 
oppressor into a thing of beauty; — ^and bade them' recognize in 
the Corinthian capital, an emblem of Truth, which had in all 
ages owed much of its transcendant loveliness to the tyranny 
that sought to stifle its growth ; — and when I pointed to it as a 
type of our national freedom, I was forced to stop, — for snowy 
handkerchiefs perfumed the air, and • eager hands beat a rap- 
turous ^ encore and I was reading a written lie ! for my 
heart was dying — puny and faded — beneath its weight. Intel- 
lect ! a woman^s intellect ! I had rather be little Fanny Porter, 
with her silly, sweet face, and always imperfect lessons, than 
what I am. She has a father, mother, brothers, sisters, who 
dote upon her. Nourished upon fondness, she asks love of all, 
and never in vain. If I could dream my life away, I should be 
content. I love to lock my door upon the real world, and unbar 
the portals of my fairy palace — my thought-realm? Those long 
delicious reveries which melt so sweetly into my night-visions — 
and the blessed rainy days spent by Josephine in worsted work ! 
Yet all this is injurious — I am enervating my mind — destroying 
every faculty of usefulness. To whom can I be useful ! ^ Bo 

your duty in your home’ — said the sernion last Sabbath. I 
have no home — no friends — I am cut off from my species. 
Tired of the world at seventeen ! weary of a life I may not 
end ! Seventeen ! seventeen ! would it were seventy or seven I 


16 


ALONE. 


I should be nearer my journey’s end — or once more a happy 
child, nestling in my mother’s bosom !” 

a Forgive me,” said a gentle voice, but your exercise is not 
finished, and it is near Signor Alboni’s hour.” The speaker 
was the owner of the adjoining desk. As their eyes met, hers 
beamed with sympathy and interest. Ida knew nothing of the 
wretchedness expressed in her features, but she felt the agony 
at heart, and taken unawares, she could not entirely repress 
the tide that sprang to her lids at this unexpected kindness. 
Ashamed of what she had been schooled” to consider a weak- 
ness, she lowered her head over her writing, until the long 
curls hid her face. “ Signor Alboni, young ladies !” called out 
Mr. Purcell, the principal of the seminary. Ida surveyed the 
unsightly sheet in dismay, but there was no time for alteration, 
and she repaired with the rest to the recitation-room. 

Signor Alboni was a gaunt, bilious-looking Italian, whom a 
residence of ten years in America had robbed of all national cha- 
racteristics, except a fiery temper. The girls feared and disliked 
him; but he was a popular and efficient teacher, and in virtue 
of these considerations, Mr. Purcell was inclined to overlook 
minor disadvantages. Ellen Morris, whose fun-making propen- 
sities no rules or presence could restrain, soon set in circulation 
a whispered report, that their « amiable professor had had a 

severe return of dyspeptic symptoms since their last lesson;” 

and don’t you think he has a queer taste ? They say his favor- 
ite drink is a decoction of saffron, spiced with copperas I No 
wonder he looks so like a piece of new nankeen.” Then an 
impromptu conundrum, pencilled upon a fly-leaf, went the rounds 
of the class. If a skeleton were asked to describe his sensa- 
tions in one word, whose name would he pronounce ?” Black, 
brown and sunny tresses were shaken, and smiling mouths 
motioned, — We give it up.” Ellen scribbled the answer, — 

All-bone-I.” 

It is a singular fact, that when one person is the unconscious 
cause of amusement to others — although ignorant of their ridi- 
cule, he often experiences an odd feeling of displeasure with 
himself and the whole world, — a sudden fit of spleen, venting 
itself upon those who richly deserve the wrath, which in his sane 
moments, he acknowledges was unprovoked. It was impossible 


ALONE. 


17 


for the signor to observe the laughing faces, that sought refuge 
behind open books and friendly shoulders, for he was occupied in 
the examination of the pile of manuscripts laid upon his desk, 
yet his brow was more and more wrinkled each second, and 
when he spoke, his tone was, as Ellen afterwards described — 
as musical as that of a papa lion, administering a parental 
rebuke to his refractory offspring.” 

^^Miss Porter!” 

Poor Fanny’s eyes started from their sockets, as she uttered a 
feeble response. 

<< Receive your exercise,” tearing it in half, and giving her the 
fragments. << Remain after school-hours, and re-write it; also 
prepare the next one in addition to your lesson for to-morrow. 
Miss Morris, where do you purchase your ink?” 

Of Messrs. Politeness, Manners & Co.,” she retorted, with 
an innocent smile. <^You never deal there, I believe, sir?” 

<< Silence!” vociferated the infuriated foreigner. Rest as- 
sured, Miss, I shall report your impertinence to Mr. Purcell. 
Miss Carleton!” and Ida’s neighbour replied. I find no im- 
portant errors in your theme, but your chirography lacks dignity 
and regularity.” 

With a respectful courtesy, the paper and hint were received ; 
and if a smile played around her mouth, as she contrasted her 
delicate characters with the stiff, upright hand, in which the 
corrections were made, he did not see it. 

<<You had some incontestible reason for omitting to write. 
Miss Ross,” with a sardonic grin; <«into its nature I shall not 
inquire, but plead guilty to curiosity to know the name of the 
friend who did your work, and appended your name to his or 
her elegant effort.” 

Ida was not of a disposition to brook insolence, and she an 
swered with spirit, — The exercise is mine, sir.’' 

By right of possession, I suppose ?” 

<< It was written by myself.” 

Do I believe you, when my eyes tell me this is neither your 
hand-writing or style ? Who was your accomplice in this witty 
deception ?” 

Sir !'' 

2 * 


18 


ALONE. 


Who wrote this theme V he thundered, maddened by her 
contempt. 

« I have told you — I did. No one else has seen it.'^ 

You Her 

With one lightning glance, she arose; but he placed himself 
between her and the door. 

<< Let me pass V’ she ordered. 

Signor Alboni said Miss Carleton, who had before endea- 
vored to make herself heard, I can certify to the truth of 
Miss Ross’ statement. I saw her commence and complete her 
manuscript.” 

Aha ! yet she says it has been seen only by herself. You 
must tutor your witnesses more carefully. They convict, instead 
of exculpate.” 

<< If you hint at collusion between Miss Ross and myself, I 
can say that we never exchanged a word until an hour since. 
My desk adjoins hers; it was this circumstance which furnished 
me with the knowledge of her morning’s occupation.” 

I beg you will not subject yourself to further insult, upon 
my account,” interrupted Ida, whose figure had dilated and 
heightened during the colloquy; — then to him — Once more I 
command you to stand aside ! If you do not obey, I shall call 
Mr. Purcell.” As if he had heard the threatened appeal, the 
principal appeared in the doorway, in blank astonishment at the 
novel aspect of affairs. Alboni commenced a hurried jargon, 
inarticulate through haste and rage; Ida stood with folded arms, 
countenance settled in such proud scorn as Lucifer would have 
envied and striven to imitate. The prudent preceptor perceived 
at a glance the danger of present investigation ; and abruptly 
declaring the lesson concluded, appointed an hour on the morrow 
for a hearing of the case. That evening, for. the first time in 
many months, Ida voluntarily sought her guardian’s presence. 
Josephine was in her room, and he was left to the enjoyment of 
solitude and the newspaper. He arose at the approach of his 
visitant, and offered her a chair. In these little matters of 
etiquette, he was particular to punctiliousness; carrying his 
business habits of law and order into every thing. The paper 
was replaced upon the stand; the spectacles wiped and returned 


ALONE. 


19 


to their case; and those matter-of-fact eyes raised with an inter- 
rogative look. 

C You have been informed of the altercation that occurred in 
the Italian class to-day?'' Ida said, waiving the preliminary 
remarks. 

J osephine mentioned it." 

May I ask what was her version of it ?" 

<< It was a statement of facts’^ 

<< Doubtless. Then, sir, you are aware that I have been wan- 
tonly and grossly insulted by a man for whom I have no respect; 
that in the presence of the entire class, I was forced to listen to 
language, which, uttered by one man to another, would be met 
by prompt chastisement; you are furthermore advised of the 
fact that he, whose duty it is to protect those whom he instructs, 
instead of compelling the creature to apologize upon his knees, 
‘ postponed inquiry until to-morrow.' " 

<< And very properly, too." 

Unquestionably, sir!" with the sarcastic smile which accom- 
panied her former assent. My object in seeking this interview, 
is to request your attendance upon that occasion. 1 shall not 
be present." 

And why not ?" 

Because, sir, I will not be confronted with that odious rep- 
tile, and give my testimony in his hearing. Judging from the 
past, and the knowledge of mankind I have acquired under your 
tuition, nothing that I can say will avail to secure me justice. 
Mr. Purcell cannot obtain a better teacher, and it is as politic in 
Alboni to remain. There will be an amicable settlement; and 
my word will be a knot in the chain of satisfactory evidence 
they will elicit. The young ladies will, of course, side with ^ the 
gentlemen.' " 

«‘But why am I to be there? — to receive Alboni's apology?" 
‘‘ I want none, sir — I will hear none. I have been called a 
liar! his pitiful life could not expiate the offence 1" 

a You are savage, young lady 1 you wish, perhaps, that I 
should pistol him." 

I thank you, sir, for recalling by your ridicule, the remem- 
brance that this is a business interview. What I ask is this : — 


20 


ALONE. 


that you announce to Signor Alboni the termination of my studies 
with him, and pay his bill.^^ 

Do you know, that although it is only the second week of 
the session, you will be charged for the term V’ 

I do, sir. 

What if I refuse to discharge the debt 
« I shall liquidate it with the money intended for my personal 
expenses.’^ 

And if I forbid this, and command you to continue your 
lessons V 

I shall refuse obedience to a demand you have not the right 
to make.’^ 

Miss. Ross ! do you know to whom you are speaking 

I address Mr. Read.^' 

And your guardian, young lady V* 

The guardian of my property, sir.’’ 

(( You are under no obligations to me, I suppose !” 

<< None that I am conscious of. You are paid for your ser- 
vices and my board.” 

There are cares for which money can offer no adequate com- 
pensation.” 

Indeed, sir! I thought gold a cure for every ill; a reward 
for every toil. But we are digressing. You will do as I wish ?” 

Resume your seat, if you please 1 The hope that I might 
have regarded your request favorably, is lessened by your unbe- 
coming deportment. You are ignorant of any benefits I have 
conferred upon you I Since you will have a debit and credit 
account, I will enlighten you on this point. You came into this 
house two years ago — a romantic, sentimental, mawkish, spoiled 
child ; weeping at every word which happened to jar upon your 
exquisite sensibilities; an unsophisticated simpleton; a fit prey 
for any bungler in deception ; unformed in manner ; womanish 
in feeling, and extravagant in expression. You have now, 
although but seventeen years of age, more sense and self-pos- 
session than most women of double your years; control the 
weaknesses which rendered you so ridiculous; are accomplished 
and respected ; in short, I say it without flattery to myself, or to 
you, bid fair to fill your position in society creditably. You 
have still obstacles to surmount; but I have judged your failings 


ALONE. 


21 


leniently, attributing them, mainly, to the defects in your early 
training. If your mother had had the wisdom and discretions^— 
Stop, sir, stop I” exclaimed the girl, rising from her chair, 
and trembling in every limb with excitement; “take not the 
name of my holy mother upon your lips — still less cast the 
shadow of reproach upon her conduct ! You have taught me 
the corruption of human nature, — have crushed all the warm 
affections I had been instructed to cherish ; — have made the life 
my young mind pictured so inviting, a desert waste, inhabited 
by wily monsters ; — but over the wreck there shines one ray, 
the memory of an angel lent to earth ! For her sake I live 
among those whose form she wore, but with whose foul hearts 
hers could have had no fellowship. You tell me she was like 
the rest, that the religion, in her so lovely, is a delusion — and 
I answer, I do not believe you. In her name I refute your 
vile sophism s ! Heaven knows how little I have profited by 
her counsels and example. I loathe myself! woman, ^ you 

said, rather a fiend! for such is woman when she buries her 
heart, nor mourns above its grave. < Control my feelings V I 
do ! I have driven back the tears until the scalding waves have 
killed whatever in my soul could boast a heavenly birth. There 
is nothing there to prove my relationship to my mother, but her 
memory. When that is destroyed I shall go mad. I am on 
the verge of insanity now — I often am ! I do not doubt your 
assertions as to your, and shame on me that I should say it, wy 
brethren; for in yourself I see all the traits you ascribe to them. 
Woman, you say, belongs to an order of yet inferior beings; and 
in your daughter I have an illustration of this ; for she inherits 
her father’s character, combined with a meaner mind. You con- 
sider that I owe you respect, — I do not ! I am superior to you 
both, for I still struggle with the emotions our Creator kindled 
up within us, and sent us to earth to extinguish. Within your 
bosoms there are only cold ashes. Frown as you please ! your 
anger intimidates as little as your ridicule abashes. The idea 
once entered my mind that I could win you and your child to 
love me. I could laugh at the thought; that was in my senti- 
mental days, when I deemed that the desolate orphan must find 
affection somewhere. My most < extravagant’ imaginings never 
paint such a possibility now. I have done. We understand 


22 


ALONE. 


each other. The contempt you had for the < mawkish^ baby, 
cannot equal mine for you. You will say no more of obligation 
and respect. I despise you, and I owe you nothing 

Is the girl mad in good earnest T’ gasped the cause of this 
burning torrent, as the door closed upon her. << She^s a dan- 
gerous customer when her blood is up — a perfect Vesuvius, and 
I came near being Herculaneum or Pompeii. Pve seen Ross in 
these tantrums, when we were chums together. She looked 
like her father when she said she was my superior. Bah He 
picked up his Enquirer,^^ biU the political news was stale 
and vapid : the Whig’^ was tried with no better success. In 
the centre of the racy editorial, and oddly mixed with the adver- 
tisements, was that incarnation of pride and passion, which 
through her eyes, more plainly than her lips, said, I despise 
you, and I owe you nothing.^^ Thus stood her part of the 
account he had proposed to examine. 


CHAPTER IV. 

Miss Carleton acknowledged the appearance of her desk- 
mate on the succeeding morning, by an inclination of the head 
and a smile ; and nothing more passed between them until the 
hour for Italian. She paused, seeing that Ida retained her seat. 
<< Are you not going in V’ she ventured to ask. 

No.^^ 

There was a moment of hesitation, and she spoke again. “ I 
would not appear to dictate, but do you not fear Mr. Purcell 
may construe your non-attendance into disrespect to himself V’ 

<< I fear nothing, was upon Ida’s tongue, but her better 
nature would not allow her to return rudeness for, what, suspi- 
cion could torture into nothing but disinterested kindness. 
With a gleam of her former frankness she looked up at her 
interlocutor, << You do not know as much as I do, or you would 
understand the inutility of my presence at the trial to come off 


ALONE. 23 

this morning. I would. avoid a repetition of yesterday^s scene 
One will suffice for a life-time.^^ 

<< You met then with insult and injustice. To-day, Mr. Pur- 
cell will shield you from both. As a gentleman, and a conscien- 
tious judge, he cannot but see that Alboni’s attack was uncalled 
for, and decide against him.^' 

“ No man is conscientious when his conscience militates against 
his purse and popularity.^' 

Miss Carleton seemed shocked, and Ida added, hastily, Our 
views upon this, as upon most subjects, are very different, I 
fancy; therefore, discussion is worse than useless. In this 
instance, my determination is taken and she opened her book. 

<<I will not attempt to shake it," replied her companion. 
« But suffer me to hope for a longer conversation at some future 
time, upon these topics, concerning which you think we differ. 
There may be some points of agreement, and I, for one, am open 
to conviction." 

Again was Ida thrown off her guard, and the smile that 
answered, irradiated her face like a sudden sunbeam. But 
when her class-mate had gone, she thought, — Weak fool! the 
reserve I have striven for two years to establish, melted by a 
soft speech of a school- girl. She is one of the would-be < popu- 
lar' sort, and would worm herself into confidence by an affectation 
of sympathy and sweetness." 

« Miss Boss," said Mr. Purcell, a while later, coming up to 
her desk, << you will do me the favor to meet me in my study at 
two o'clock." 

At the time designated, she walked with a stately tread 
through the long school-room, unabashed by the hundred curious 
eyes bent upon her; for a summons to <<the study" was an event 
of rare occurrence, and had been heretofore the harbinger of 
some important era in the annals of school-dom. Ida was pre- 
pared for every thing partiality could dictate, and tyranny 
execute ; but Mr. Purcell was alone, and his demeanor anything 
but menacing. He thinks to cajole me," whispered the fell 
demon Distrust, and her heart changed to steel. 

Miss Ida," began the principal, mildly, <Uhis is your third 
session in this institution, and I can sincerely declare that during 
that time, your propriety of behaviour, and diligence in study 


24 


ALONE. 


have not been surpassed. I have nevei; had a young lady under 
my care, whose improvement was more rapid — of whose attain- 
ments I was more proud ; but I regret to say, never one whose 
confidence I failed so signally to gain. A teacher’s task, my 
dear Miss Boss, is at best an arduous one, but if he receive no 
recompense for his toil in the affection of those for whom he 
labors, his life is indeed one of cheerless drudgery. You appear 
to regard me as a mere machine. For a time I attributed your 
reserve to diffidence, and trusted that time and my efforts would 
dissipate it. On the contrary, the distance between us has 
increased. You hold yourself aloof from your school-mates, 
repelling every offered familiarity, yet I have seen you weep 
after such an act. Your cheek glows with enthusiasm when 
your favorite studies engage your mind, and you relapse into 
frigid hauteur when recalled to the actual world around you. 
You have feeling as well as intellect — you are acting a part 
assumed from some unaccountable fancy; or, I would rather 
believe, put upon you by necessity. The evidence of your want 
of reliance in my friendship which you have given me to-day, 
has determined me to speak candidly with you. I would not 
wrest a confession from you which you might afterwards repent, 
but I entreat you to look upon me as a friend who has a paternal 
love for each member of his numerous family, who desires to see 
you happy, and asks — not your confidence, but that you will let 
him serve you.” 

Ida sat like a statue. He resumed in a tone of disappointment — 

<<As to the unjustifiable charge brought by Signor Alboni — I 
am aware how galling is even the appearance of humiliation upon 
so proud a spirit. I have investigated the matter carefully. The 
testimony of your friend. Miss Carleton, would of itself have been 
sufficient to exonerate you. It was confirmed by the voice of the 
class, and the inevitable consequence is, that Signor Alboni no 
longer has a place in my school. I can safely promise that the 
teacher I have selected in his stead, will oppose no impediment 
to your progress.”^) 

Shame for her unjust accusations, and remorseful ingratitude 
pierced Ida’s bosom. G-reatly agitated, she approached her 
instructor, when Mr. Head walked in; — a cynical iceberg I 
Every generous emotion — all softness vanished on the instant. 


ALONE. 


25 


His inquiring glance encountered one as freezing. « I will not 
detain you longer, Mr. Purcell/^ she said, as if concluding a 
business arrangement. As nearly as I can understand, your 
object in sending for me was to secure me as a pupil of the new 
language-master. Having undertaken the study of the Italian, 
I prefer going through with the course. Mr. Read will settle 
the terms. Good afternoon, gentlemen and with the mien of 
a duchess she left them. 

Mr. Read <<had been delayed by pressing business. Miss 
Ross requested him to see Signor Alboni — was sorry he was 
late — presumed all was right, etc.,^^ and walked out again. Mr. 
Purcell was too much hurt, and too indignant at his pupil’s con- 
duct, to care whether he stayed or not. 

The misguided girl had alienated a true friend, and she knew 
it — felt it in her heart’s core. In the solitude of her chamber 
she wept bitter tears : I have cast away the gem for which I 
would sell my soul ! While I thirsted for the waters of affec- 
tion, I struck down the hand that held them to my lip. It is 
my fate — I was not born to be loved — I hate myself — why 
should I inspire others with a different feeling ?” 

In vain she tried to reason herself into a belief of Mr. Pur- 
cell’s insincerity. Truth speaks with a convincing tongue, and 
she knew that the imputation of interested motives she had 
hurled at him in the unfortunate revulsion of feeling, was 
unfounded. 

In intermission next day, a note was laid upon Ida’s desk, 
inscribed in towering capitals, to “ Misses Ross and Carleton.” 
It ran thus : — 

<< At a large and enthusiastic meeting of the Italian class of 
Mr. Purcell’s Young Ladies’ Female Seminary, convened on 
yesterday afternoon, the succeeding resolutions were proposed, 
and carried unanimously i 

uResohedj That whereas. Miss Ida Ross and Miss Caroline 
Carleton, members of the aforesaid class, have, by their spirited 
independence delivered us from an oppression as grinding as that 
under which our Revolutionary forefathers groaned, a vote of 
thanks shall be tendered them in the name of their compatriots. 
And — 


3 


26 


ALONE. 


Resolved j Moreover, that we hind ourselves to assist them 
by our united suffrages in the attainment of any honor for which 
they shall hereafter be candidates, whether the dunce-block or 
the gold medal. Anna Talbot, Chairman. 

Ellen Morris, Secretary, 

The event which had elicited this public manifestation, was 
to Ida, connected with too much that was unpleasant, to allow 
her to smile at the pompous communication. She passed it 
gravely to her neighbor. She laughed at the ludicrous repeti- 
tion of feminity in the second line, and at the conclusion, ^ 
bounded upon the platform where stood Mr. PurcelFs desk, 
and commenced a flourishing harangue for herself and col- 
league,^^ expressing their gratitude at the flattering tribute from 
their fellow-laborers, and pledging themselves to uphold forever 
their honor and lawful privileges. In the language of your 
eloquent resolution, my sisters, we form a < Young Ladies^ 
Female Seminary^ — womanfully will we battle for woman’s 
rights.” 

<< Hush-h-h !” and Mr. Purcell was discovered standing benind 
the crowd. He stood aside to let the blushing orator return to 
her seat, remarking in an under- tone as she passed, << I must 
take care to enlist such talents in my service — I shall be undone 
if they are directed against me.” 

« Oh Carry ! what did he say ?” whispered Fanny Porte. 

“ Nothing very dreadful,” she returned, laughingly. Ida 
looked on in surprise, Josephine with scorn; but to the majority, 
this little episode in their monotonous life, was a diverting enter- 
tainment. 

« Give me a girl who is not too proud to relish a joke,” said 
Ellen Morris. << Ida Ross is above such buffoonery She would 
not have demeaned her dignity before the school.” 

<< But Carry spoke for her too,” said Emma Glenn, a meek, 
charitable creature; << Perhaps modesty, not pride, kept her 
silent.” 

<< Fiddlesticks !’^ was the school-girlish rejoinder. 

Ida had missed a chance for making herself popular. The 
girls were moved to admiration by her manner of resenting 
Alboni’s rudeness, and their joy at getting rid of him, assumed 


ALONE. 


27 


the shape of gratitude to their champion. She was for the hour 
a heroine, and might have retained her stand, but for her cool 
treatment of tteir advances. She saw, without understanding 
the reason of the change, that there was now a mingling of dis- 
like in their neglect ; and as she sank in their esteem. Carry 
mounted. Mr. Purcell never, noticed her out of the recitation 
room — Mr. Kead was more lofty — Josephine more contemptuous 
than ever Inmates of one house — occupying adjacent cham 
hers — sitting at the same board at home, and within speaking 
distance at school, the two girls had not one feeling in common 
— a spark of affection one for the other. Open ruptures were 
infrequent now, although they were innumerable during the first 
months of their companionship. They appeared together in pub- 
lic — this Mr. Read enjoined It was due to* his reputation, 
people should not say that his daughter’s privileges exceeded 
his ward’s.” Purther than this he did not interfere. He saw 
them only at meal-times, and in the evening ; then Josephine 
presided over the tear-tray with skill and grace, and • amused 
him, if he wished it, by reading, singing or talking. Ida did as 
she pleased. There were no requirements, no privations. In 
the eyes of the world her situation was unexceptionable. They 
knew nothing of the covert sneers which smiled down any ten- 
dency to what the torpid minds of the father and daughter 
considered undue enthusiasm; their sarcastic notice of her sin- 
gularities,” their studied variance with her views ; — but to her, 
bondage and cruelty would have been more tolerable. Yet this 
mocking surveillance — this certainty of ridicule, could not always 
check the earnest expression of a grasping intellect and ardent 
temperament; and there were not a few who frequented the 
house, who preferred the piquancy of her conversation, when 
they could draw her out of the snow-caverns of her reserve, to 
the trite common-places and artificial spirits of Miss Read. 

Among these was Mr. Hermott, an Irish gentleman of con 
siderable scientific renown, and a traveller of some note ; hard 
upon forty years of age, but enjoying life with the zest of 
twenty. Ida’s intelligent countenance had pleased him at their 
introduction, and having letters to Mr. Read, he embraced every 
opportunity to improve the acquaintance. 

I shall not go to school to-day,” said Josephine, one morn- 


28 


ALONE. 


ing, <( father expects Mr. Dermott and several other gentlemen 
to dine with him/ and I cannot be spared. He says you must 
come home in time for dinner.^^ 

<< As school breaks up at three, and you will not dine before 
five, there was no need to issue the command said Ida, irritated 
at her arrogant tone. 

Very well, I have delivered the message.’^ 

Mr. Read was dissatisfied that his ward did not enter the 
drawing-room until dinner was announced. It did not look 
well,’^ — and her nonchalant air and slight recognition of the 
party, did not speak well for his bringing up.^' But the 
current veered before meal was over. The fowls were under- 
done, and the potatoes soaked. His glance of displeasure at his 
daughter was received with such imperturbability, that he chafed 
at the impossibility of moving her, and his desire to render some-- 
body uncomfortable. The latter wish was not left ungratified. 
One after another felt the influence of his lowering brow, and 
imitated his silence, until Mr. Dermott and Ida were the only 
ones who maintained a connected conversation. He talked 
fluently with the humor peculiar to his countrymen, and had 
succeeded in interesting his listener. She had naturally a 
happy laugh, which in earlier years rung out in merry music ; 
and as the unusual sound startled him from time to time, Mr. 
Read took it as a personal affront. Could not she see that he 
was out of temper ? He had punished the rest for the cook’s 
misdeeds, how dare she, while they sat ’neath the thunder cloud 
of his magnificent wrath, sport in the sunshine ? It was auda- 
cious bravado. She should rue it ere long. Josephine readily 
obeyed his signal to leave the table, so soon as it could be done 
with a semblance of propriety. <( I will hear the rest, by and 
by,” said Ida to Mr. Dermott, revedrJ* Neither of the 
girls spoke after quitting the dining-room. Josephine lay upon 
a lounge, with half-closed lids, apparently drowsy or fatigued, 
in reality, wakeful and watching. Ida walked back and forth, 
humming an Irish air — pleased and thoughtful. Then taking 
from the bookcase a volume of << Travels,” she employed herself 
in looking it over. 

See !” said she, at Mr. Dermott’s reappearance, « it is as I 
thought. This author’s account varies, in some respects, from 


ALONE. 


29 


from yours ; and at the peril of my place in your good graces, I 
must declare my prejudices to be with him. A spot so cele- 
brated, so sacred in its associations, cannot be as uninteresting 
as you would have me to think. Come, confess, that the jolting 
camel and surly guide were accessories to your discontent.” 

Josephine lost the answer, and much that followed. (^She was 
joined by young Pemberton, a fop of the first water, with sense 
enoiigh to make him uneasy in the society of the gifted, and 
meanness to rejoice in their discomfiture and misfortune. For 
the rest, he was weak and hot-headed, a compound of conceit 
and malice. Time was when he admired Ida. He had an 
indefinite notion that a clever wife would reflect lustre upon 
him } and a very decided appreciation of her more shining and 
substantial charms. 

Her repulse was a mortal offence : small minds never forget, 
much less pardon a rebuke to their vanity, and he inly swore 
revenge. But how to get it ? She rose superior to his witless 
sarcasms, and more pointed slights; reversing the arrows towards 
himself, and his mortification heated into hatred. J osephine was 
aware of this feeling, and its cause ; and while despising, in a 
man, a weakness to which she was herself a prey, foreseeing that 
he might prove a convenient tool, she attached him to her by 
Buasives and flatteries.) 

It is a positive relief to talk to you. Miss Josephine,” he 
yawned, I am surfeited with literature and foreigners. These 
travelled fellows are outrageous bores, with their bushy mousta- 
chios and outlandish lingo. How the ladies can fawn upon 
them as they do, I cannot comprehend.” 

“ Ho not condemn us all for the failings of a part. There are 
those who prefer pure gold to gilded trash.” 

For your sake, I will make some exceptions,” with a kill- 
ing” look. But what do you imagine to be the object of that 
flirtation ? No young lady of prudence or proper self-respect^ 
would encourage so boldly the attentions of a stranger. Sup- 
posing him to be what he represents, (a thing by no means 
certain,) she cannot intend to marry him — a man old enough to 
be her father T 

But, < unison of tastes,^ ^ concord of souls,^ etc., will go far 
towards reconciling her to the disparity of years,” observed 

3 * 


80 


ALONE. 


Josephine, ironically; not sorry to strike upon this tender point. 
He tried to laugh, hut with indifferent success. 

Ida^s voice reached them, and they stopped to listen. 

<< I am afraid my conceptions of Eastern life and scenery are 
more poetical than correct. I picture landscapes sleeping in 
warm, rich, < Syrian sunshine,^ < sandal groves and bowers of 
spice,' 

* Ruined shrines, and towers that seem 
The relics of some splendid dream,’ — 

such a Fairy Land as ignorance and imagination create." 

<< The Utopia of one who studies Lalla Rookh more than 
< Eastern Statistics,' or < Incidents of Travel,' " said Mr. Der- 
mott, smiling. Yet Moore's descriptions are not so much 
overwrought as some suppose. His words came continually to 
my tongue. He has imbibed the true spirit of Oriental poetry; 
the melancholy, which, like the ghost of a dead age, broods over 
that^ldest of lands; the passion flushing under their tropical 
sun ; their wealth of imagery. Lalla Rookh reads like a trans- 
lation from the original Persian. The wonder is that he has 
never been self-tempted to visit the <Yale of Cashmere'’ in 
person." 

Campbell, too, having immortalized Wyoming, will not cross 
the ocean to behold it," said Ida. 

There was a consultation between the confederates, and Pem- 
berton crossed to Ida's chair, with a smirk that belied the fire 
in his eye. 

<< Excuse me, Mr. Dermott, — Miss Ida, I am commissioned to 
inquire of you the authorship and meaning of this quotation — 

* Deeply, darkly, desperately blue !’ ” 

It is impossible to convey a just impression of the offensive 
tone and emphasis with which this impertinence was uttered. 
iThe quick-witted Irishman saw through the design in an 
instant. It is from a Scotch author," said he, before Ida 
could reply, << and the rhyme runs after this fashion — 

‘ Feckless, fairlie, farcically fou !’ ” 

and not deigning a second glance at the questioner, he con- 
tinued his account of a visit he had paid to Moore. The object 


ALONE. 


31 


of this merciless retort stood for a second, in doubt as to its 
meaning, and then walked oflP, still in incertitude. Ida^s laugh, 
while it might have been in response to Mr. Dermott^s story, 
assured Josephine that her end was unaccomplished, before her 
messenger had delivered his lame return. 

She understood me, and it cut pretty deeply, but that puppy 
of a paddy answered for her. He repeated the next line, too, 

< from a Scotch author,^ he said, but I believe he made it up.” 

What was it?” asked Josephine. 

‘ Fairly, farcically fou,' or something like that. If I were 
sure that last word meant fool, I would knock him down. Do 
you understand Scotch ?” 

. “ No,” replied Josephine, vexed, but afraid to excite him 
further. He is beneath the notice of a gentleman ; we can 
let him alone.” 

But Ida^s share in this was not to be overlooked. Josephine 
appeared as usual at breakfast : talkative to her father, and taci- 
turn to her female companion. At length she inquired, naean- 
ingly, by the way, Ida, when does your travelled Hibernian 

< lave this counthry ?^ ” 

If you speak of Mr. Dermott, I do not know.” 

^^Is it not remarkable,” said Josephine to her parent, <ahat 
polish and purify as you may, you cannot cure an Irishman of 
vulgarity? Irish he is, and Irish he will remain to the end of 
the chapter.” 

Dermott behaves very decently, does he not? His letters 
of recommendation — introduction, I would say, describe him as 
a pattern gentleman.” 

Josephine lifted her brows. It is a misfortune to be fas- 
tidious ; my education has rendered me so. I cannot tolerate 
slang or abuse, especially when directed at a superior in polite- 
ness, if not in assurance.” 

<<What now?” demanded Mr. Bead, impatiently; and Ida, 
unable to hear more in silence, started up from the table. 

«Wait, if you please,” said Josephine, with that metallic 
glitter of her grey eyes. I wish you to repeat your friend^s 
reply to Mr. Pemberton, when he was the bearer of a civil mes- 
sage from me.” 


32 


ALONE. 


« I heard no message of that description/^ retorted Ida, 
unmoved. 

<< He did not repeat a line of poetry, and ask the author’s 
name, I presume 

<< He did.’' 

« And you furnished the required information?" 

<< I did not." 

Mr. Hermott did, then. What was his answer?" 

(( I do not choose to tell. I am not in the habit of playing 
spy and informer." 

Then I shall repeat it. I am not in the habit of winking at 
impudence or transgressions of the most common laws of society. 
What do you say, sir, of a man who, in the presence of ladies, 
calls another a < farcical fool ?' " 

<< That he is a foreign jackanape. He never darkens my 
door again. You heard this?" to Ida.^ 

<< I did not, sir, but Mr. Pemberton displays such penetration 
in discovering, and taste in fitting on caps that could suit no one 
else so well, I am not inclined to contest his title to this latest 
style." 

« I do not wonder at your defence of your erudite suitor," 
said Josephine, laying a disagreeable stress upon the adjective. 

If he were to single me out in every company, as the one being 
capable of appreciating him, I, too, should be blinded by the 
distinction attendant upon my notoriety. But as His Highness 
never gives token, by word or deed, of his consciousness of the 
existence of so unpretending a personage, I may be pardoned 
my impartial observation and judgment. I do not expect you 
to forbid his visits, sir, but I wish it understood that I am not 
at home when he calls." 

And that you reject his attentions ?" asked Ida, dryly. 

Josephine did not like her smile, yet saw no danger in reply- 
ing — “assuredly!" 

“It is a pity," was the rejoinder, “ that your resolution was 
not postponed until Tuesday." 

“ And why?" said Mr. Bead. 

“ Mr. Dermot informed me last night that he had secured three 
tickets for the concert of Monday evening, and requested permis- 
sion to call for Josephine and myself. I told him that she had 


ALONE. 


33 


expressed anxiety to attend, and that I was disengaged. She 
was not in the parlor when he left, and he entrusted the invita- 
tion to me. He will be here this forenoon for her answers. As 
things now stand, his visit will be extremely mal-apropos. 1 
shall decline for myself ; she can do the same.^^ 

J osephine prudently lowered her eye-lids, hut her lips were 
white with rage. She had especial reasons for desiring to go to 
this concert. Every body was running mad after the principal 
performer ; — absence from necessity would be a pitiable inflic- 
tion ; — to stay away from choice, irrefragable proof of want of 
taste. To be escorted thither by Mr. Dermott, would give her 
an elat, the devotion of a score of Pembertons could not pro- 
duce. In seeking to mortify another, she had pulled down this 
heavy chagrin upon her own head, — common fate of those who 
would make the hearts and backs of their fellows the rounds of 
their ladder to revenge or to fame. 

Even Mr. Read was momentarily disconcerted. << I will pro- 
cure you a ticket, he said, consolingly. 

That tongue was used to falsehood, yet it did not move as 
glibly as was its wont, as she replied, << I do not care to go, sir.^^ 
That is fortunate,^^ said Ida, as every seat was taken yes- 
terday. You do not object to my withdrawing now 

The shot had gone home; her enmity was gratified; she had 
not been anxious to attend from the first, and therefore was not 
disappointed ; she did not suffer from pained sensibility ; the 
frequency of these encounters had inured her to ambushed attack; 
she was fast becoming a match for them in stoicism, and sur- 
passed them in satire; in this skirmish she had borne flying 
colours from the field; but had the contrary of all these things 
been true, she could not have been more wretched She hated, 
as spirits like hers only can hate, her cold-hearted persecutors, 
and exulted in their defeat; yet close upon triumph came a 
twinge of remorse and a sense of debasement. 

I am sinking to their level ! I could compete with them upon 
no other ground. They are despicable in their worldliness and 
malice ; shall I grovel and hiss with them ? It seems inevitable 
— debarred as I am from all associations which can elevate and 
clear my mind. Oh ! the low envy in that girFs face as she 
named my < suitor V Destitute of mental wants herself, she 


ALONE. 


34 

tliiaks of nothing but courtship and a settlement! But this 
matter must be arranged/^ 

She opened her writing-desk. Her chamber was her retreat 
and sanctum^ and she had lavished much taste and time in fit- 
ting it up. All its appurtenances spoke of genius and refine- 
ment. With a poetic love for warm colors and striking contrasts, 
crimson and black relieved, each the other, in her carpet and 
curtains. The bedstead, seats and tables, fashioned into elegant 
and uncommon forms by her orders, were draped and cushioned 
with the same Tyrian hue. - Books and portfolios were heaped 
and strewed upon the shelves and stands; and in one corner, 
upon a wrought bronze tripod, was an exquisite statuette — a girl 
kneeling beside an empty cage, the lifeless songster stark and 
cold in her hand. Several of Ida^s schoolmates were with her 
when she purchased it from an itinerant Italian. They saw in 
the expression of hopeless sadness, only regret for her bird. Ida 
noted that her gaze was not upon its ruffled plumes, but to its 
silent home; and that one hand lay upon her heart. Looking 
more narrowly she discerned upon the pedestal the simple excla- 
mation, Et mon cceur !” 

Henceforward it had become her Lares. She had scattered 
flowers over it, kissed it weepingly, and with lips rigid in stern 
despair, laid her hot brow to the white forehead of the voiceless 
mourner. She must have something to love, and the insensate 
image was dear, because it told qf a grief such as hers. Now, 
after she dipped her pen in the standish, she paused to contem- 
plate it, — the red light bathing it in a life-like glow, — and the 
blood receded from her face, as she uttered aloud its touching 
complaint, Et mon coeur!’^ 

Writing a note to Mr. Dermott, in whieh, without stating her 
reasons, she declined his ofier, she dispatched it by one of her 
own servants, lately promoted to the office of Abigail, and attired 
herself for a walk. It was Saturday, and the weather faultless. 
A sigh of relief escaped her when she was in the outer air — she 
was free for a while. The streets were densely peopled — dash- 
ing ladies, and marble-playing urchins, glorying in the holiday; 
bustling, pushing men, and lazy nurses lugging fat babies ; and 
through the incongruous crowd the pale thinker threaded her 
way, jostling and jostled, wrapped in herself, as they thought 


ALONE. 


35 


Dut of their individual personality, with this difference — they 
seemed happy in their selfishness ; she was miserable in her iso- 
lation. She did not see that Pemberton passed her with a stift 
bow, which, in punishment for her non-recognition, he resolved 
should be exchanged for a decided << cut^^ at their next meeting; 
did not catch Mr. Purcell's eye, as forgetting her rebuff in his 
pleasure at espying one, who could rightly value the prize he had 
discovered in an antiquated volume, musty with age, he beckoned 
to her from the door of the bookstore ; did not hear Emma Glenn's 
modest <^Good morning. Miss Ida,'' although she liked the child, 
and would have loved her if she had dared. She turned from 
the busy thoroughfare into an unfrequented street, keeping the 
same rapid pace ; the mind was working, the body must be mov- 
ing too — on, still on, with unflagging speed — 'till she found her- 
self upon the summit of the hill overlooking the lower part of 
the city, and near the old churchyard. She stopped, and looked 
in. A flight of steps led up to the burying-ground, several feet 
above the level of the walk. What tempted her to ascend? 
She had been there before, and was not interested — yet the irre- 
solution ended in her entrance. It was very still in that Acro- 
polis of the dead : the long grass, yellow in the October sun, 
waved without rustling ; the sere leaves drifted silently to the 
ground; from the mass of buildings below her arose only a 
measured beat rather than hum — as regular, and not louder, 
than the <^muflled drum" within her bosom. The warring ele- 
ments of discord sank into a troubled rest, but their conflict was 
easier to be borne than the reaction that succeeded. 

<<Free among the dead;" forgotten as they, she sat upon a 
broken tombstone, in the shadow of the venerable church, with 
sorrowful eyes which looked beyond the city, the river, and the 
undulating low-grounds skirting its banks. 

She had said to herself an hundred times, cannot be happy ; 
it is folly to hope." But this morning she felt she had never 
until now relinquished hope; that despair, for the first time, 
stalked through the deserted halls of her heart, and the dreaded 
echo alone" answered his footsteps. 

It is easy to give up the world, with its million sources of 
delight, to share the adverse fortunes of one dearer l-han all its 


ALONE. 


^6 

painted show; it is sweet to bid adieu to its frivolties, for the 
hope of another and a better/^ but 

When the draught so fair to see 
Turns to hot poison on the lip;” 

when the duped soul cries out against the fair pretence that 
promised so much and gave so little, when it will none of it, and 
puts it by with loathing disgust ; — yet resorts to nothing more 
real and pure ; — what art can balm a woe like this ? 

A click of the gate-latch, and voices warned her that her soli- 
tude was about to be invaded. << I will wait here half an hour,^' 
said familiar tones. << Thank you,” was the reply;” «you need 
not stay longer; if she is at home I shall spend the day.” « Very ' 
well; good bye,” and Carry Carlton ran up the steps. Retreat 
was impossible, for their eyes met at once, and to the new visitor 
the meeting appeared to give satisfaction. 

I am, indeed, fortunate,” said she, saluting Ida, and taking 
a place beside her, “I expected to pass a solitary half-hour. One 
of the girls came with me to the gate. She has gone to see her 
aunt, and may not return to-day. This is a favorite spot of mine. 

I am laughed at for the choice, yet it seems I am not as singular 
as they would have me believe. • Do you come here often ?” 

« This is only my second visit.” 

<< Indeed ! But it is a long walk from your house. I live 
nearer, although on the other hill.” 

I understood you were from the country,” said Ida. 

« So I am — but my sister resides here, and hers is another 
home to me. I love the country, yet I like Richmond. It 
is a beautiful city,” she continued, her glance roving over the 
landscape. 

<< Outwardly — ^yes.” 

You do not think the inhabitants adapted to their abode, 
then?” 

“ I do not know that they are worse than the rest of mankind. 

It is a matter of astonishment to me, that this globe should have 
been set apart as the theatre for so depraved a race.” 

I don’t know,” said Carry, cheerily. « I find it a nice world 
— the best J am acquainted with ; and the people harmless, good 


ALONE. 37 

creatures — some dearer to me than others; hut I entertain a 
fraternal affection for all/^ 

I have read of philanthropists/^ said Ida ; « hut you are the 
sole specimen I have seen. And this universal love — is it con- 
tent to exist without a reciprocation * 

The heart would he soon emptUd were this so/^ returned 
the other, her bright face hecomiug serious. There are many 
who love me; if any dislike, I am in blissful ignorance of the 
sentiment and its cause.^^ 

But if your friends were removed, and replaced by enemies?’’ 

I would teach them friendship. My affection for the dead 
would make me more desirous to benefit the living.” 

And if they would not be conciliated — if upon the broad 
earth you had not an answering spirit ?” 

I should die !” 

<<How then do I live?” nearly burst from Ida’s heart, but 
she smothered it, and replied, “It is easier to speak of death 
than to brave it.” 

“ Death ! did I say death ?” exclaimed Carry. “ I saw life 
as it would be were I bereft of father, sister, friends — and I said 
truly that it would not be worth the keeping — but death ! I 
would not rush on that I I have such a horror of the winding- 
sheet and the worm J” She shivered. 

“ Yet you like to be Tiere ?” ^ 

“ Yes. This is a sunny, cheerful place, with no fresh graves 
to remind one that the work of destruction is still going on. I 
love life. Others may expose its deceits, and weep above its 
withered blooms; I see blue sky were they fancy clouds. It 
is the day — the time for action and enjoyment; who would 
hasten the coming of the night — impenetrable — dawnless !” 

" * To die — and go — we know not where !’ ” 

quoted Ida. “ That line conveys all that I fear in death. There 
have been seasons when the uncertainty shrouding the abyss 
beyond alone prevented my courting its embrace. Were it 
eternal forgetfulness, how grateful would be its repose ! Looking 
around me here, I think of calm sleepers under these stones, 
hands folded meekly upon bosoms that will never heave again ; 
of aching heads and wearied spirits at rest forever.” 

4 


38 


ALONE. 


You are too young to covet this dreamless slumber,” said 
Carry With your talents and facilities you have a work to 
do in this world.” 

<< What can I do ? and for whom ?” 

« Why — for every body.” 

<< Too wide a scope — defile. For example, what are my school- 
duties, setting aside my studies ?” ♦ 

' We can help each other,” was the modest rejoinder. << We 
can impart pleasure, and avoid giving pain. Not a day passes 
in which we cannot add a drop of sweet to the appointed draught 
of some one of our fellow-creatures.” 

Apropos to honey — it suggests its opposite, gall, and our 
ci-devant professor. I have not thanked you for your generous 
interference in my behalf, on the day of our fracas,” said Ida, 
with an ease and cordiality that surprised herself. 

<< You magnify the favor. I spoke the truth. To withhold 
it would have been dishonesty.” 

Dishonesty!” 

<< Your character for veracity was assailed. I had the proof 
which would establish it. I should have felt like a receiver of 
stolen goods had I concealed it.” 

Moreover, to your philanthropy, I was not an individual, 
but the impersonation of the sisterhood said Ida, jestingly. 

(( Perhaps so,” returned Carry, in a like strain. << You remem- 
ber the < Young Ladies^ Female meeting.^ ” 

That was a piece of Ellen Morris’ grandiloquence. Do you 
know, I envy that girl her faculty of creating mirth wherever 
she goes 1” 

<< I had rather be Enima Glenn,” said Carry. One is witty, 
the other affectionate, and they will receive respectively admira- 
tion and love.” 

I do not quite agree with you. Ellen’s high spirits will 
carry her through many a sharp battle, from which Emma’s 
sensitive nature would never recover. To combat with the 
world one should have no heart; and I heard a clergyman once 
say that a woman had no use for sense.” 

Carry laughed. << Between you, you would represent us as a . 
superfiuous creation. Yet woman has her sphere, no less than 
man ; and if he conquers in his by might of purpose and brute 


alone. 


strength, she guides, instead of rules in hers, by love and sub- 
mission. As for the world, that semi-fabulous ogre, supposed 
to live somewhere, all out of doors, whose cold charities are pro- 
verbial; who eats up widow' houses, and grinds the poor; we 
have no dealings with it. It is, to my notion, an innocent bug- 
bear, kept by the men, to prevent us froru meddling in their 
business matters ; and to melt flinty-hearted wives into pity for 
one, who has been flghting this monster all day, and has now to 
drink smoked tea, and eat burnt toast for supper." 

Are you ever sad ?" questioned Ida. 

“ Not often, why do you ask 

You appear so light-hearted. I was at a loss to determine 
whether it was natural or feigned." 

My spirits are good, chiefly from habit, I believe. My 
father is remarkably cheerful. It is a maxim of bis, that we 
are unjust, when we cause others to do penance for our humors, 
they have trouble enough of their own to bear. Controlling the 
manifestations of temper and discontent, is generally followed 
by the suppression of the feelings themselves. It has been so 
with me." 

<< See that burlesque of life !" said Ida, pointing. Children 
turning somersets upon a tomb-stone !" 

The tomb was built with four brick walls, supporting a 
horizontal tablet; and upon this flat surface, the irreverent 
youngsters were gambolling. One, the most agile, and the 
leader of the troop, was, as he spoke, in the act of performing 
a vehemently encored feat, viz. : throwing two somersets upon 
the marble, another in transitu for the ground, and a fourth, 
after landing upon the turf. Two were accomplished in safety, 
the third was a flying leap, and he did not move afterwards. 
The children screamed, and the girls ran to the spot. In fall- 
ing, he had struck his head against a stone, and was senseless, 
the blood gushing from a wound in, or near the temple. Carry 
rested his head upon her arm, and with nervous haste, unbut- 
toned his collar. Where are his parents?" inquired Ida. But 
they only cried the louder. « I fear he is killed !" said Carry. 
Ida shook her purse at the terrifled group. Who will bring 
me a doctor, — who, his mother ?" Her collected manner tended 
to quiet them, as much as the clink of coin. Half-a-dozen 


40 


ALONE. 


scampered in as many directions, and she ordered the rest off, 
without ceremony. There was no rebellion. Each had a mis- 
giving that he was to blame for the casualty, and they were 
glad to skulk away. 

The handkerchief which Carry held to the gash, was saturated, 
and Ida supplied hers. He showed no sign of life, except that 
Ida imagined that she detected a feeble fluttering of the heart. 
Carry wept as though her heart would break. Poor little fellow V* 
she exclaimed repeatedly. Ida did not shed a tear, but her com- 
pressed lips and contracted brow said this did not proceed from 
insensibility. I cannot bear this suspense,^^ she said. I will 
look for a doctor myself, if you are not afraid to stay here alone.^^ 
No, go V* 

She met the medical man at the gate. It was Mr. Read^s 
family physician, who chanced to be in the neighborhood. <‘Oh, 
Dr. Ballard V’ exclaimed Ida. I am rejoiced to see you 

And I am always happy to meet Miss Ross — but what is 
this about a boy killed ? None of your friends, I hope.^^ 

Ida explained, as she led him to the scene of the disaster. It 
seemed ill-timed to the agitated girls, to see him touch his hat, 
with grave courtesy, to Carry, as he stopped to make an examina- 
tion. He is not dead,^^ he said, feeling the pulse and heart; 

but it came near being an awkward hurt. Miss Ross, I will 
trouble you to call one of those boys, and send him for my ser- 
vant, who is in the street with my carriage. If I only had some 
soft linen V’ looking around. Ida took an embroidered scarf 
from her neck. He tore it into strips, rolled them into a ball, 
and bound it tightly upon the cut. Where does he live he 
asked. 

The. information was furnished by the boy^s mother, who 
hurried up at this instant. She, with her reviving son, were put 
into the carriage, and the doctor stepped in after them. 

The girls had no inclination to linger in the church-yard. 
The conversation, during their walk, ran upon the accident; 
but as they parted at the corner, of the streets diverging to their 
separate abodes. Carry expressed a strong desire for the con- 
tinuation of the acquaintance. We have had an odd talk this 
morning;’^ said she smiling; <<I would not have you regard it 
as a fair sample of my conversational powers.^^ 


ALONE. 


41 


Ida walked homeward with a lightened spirit. Odd’’ as was 
their talk, and alarming as was the incident which interrupted 
it, she was better for both. There was a charm in Carry’s 
frankness, which beguiled her confidence, and her cheerful phi- 
losophy was a pleasant, if not a prudent rule, for making one’s 
way in life. She dwelt upon her declaration, that each day 
brought its opportunities for benevolent deeds; and her con- 
science responded joyfully to the appeal, Have I contributed 
my drop of sweet to-day ?” by pointing to her exertions for the 
relief of the unknown sufferer. Carry had praised her presence 
of mind, and the doctor complimented her warmly. << If I have 
not given pleasure, I have mitigated pain.” 

The struck chord ceased to vibrate as she reached the house 
where she had suffered and learned so much. When she came 
down to dinner, she was impassive and distant. Mr. Read vouch- 
safed to inquire if she had seen Mr. Dermott. She replied in 
the negative. 

<< I thought there was an arrangement to that effect said he, 
sneeringly. 

I addressed a note to him which made his call unnecessary.” 

I do not presume to meddle with your correspondence. Miss 
Ross;” with << immense” stiffness; <<but I trust neither my name, 
or that of my daughter were contained in that communication.” 

am responsible for my actions, sir; it is certain I never 
thought of referring them to your influence. I suppose Mr. 
Dermott is satisfied , — I am.” 


CHAPTER V. 

Mr. Purcell, himself an able connoisseur and liberal patron 
of the fine arts, never suffered a suitable occasion to pass, without 
endeavoring to implant, and cultivate like tastes in his pupils. 
No Exhibition” or Collection was recommended unadvisedly. 
He justly considered a relish for a vicious or false style, worse 
than none. So well was this known, that the girls were equally 

4 * 


42 


ALONE. 


eager to examine what he esteemed worthy of their inspection, 
and to avoid that which he condemned. An artist visited the 
city, and advertised a set of “ choice paintings, on exhibition for 
a few days.^' They were much talked of, and the scholars impa- 
tiently listened for the verdict of their principal. There were 
many smiling faces, when he announced, that he accepted, with 
pleasure, the polite invitation of the artist to himself and the 
members of his school. The pictures were the work of a master 
hand; — he recommended them to their careful study. That 
afternoon, the studio was full. Some went from curiosity; some 
to be in the fashion; comparatively a small number through 
genuine love for the art. Among the latter class was Ida 
Ross. Bestowing little notice upon her acquaintances present, 
she passed around the room, intent upon the object which had 
drawn her thither. She was not disturbed ; her reserve repelled, 
and her intellectual superiority awed ; she knew — and they knew 
that though with, she was not of them ; as an institution, they 
were proud of her ; as individuals, with a very few exceptions, 
they disliked and envied her. 

The proprietor, or a gentleman, supposed to be he, was at a 
desk, writing. He must have possessed the power of abstraction 
in an extraordinary degree ; for the chattering about him, resem- 
bled the confabulations of a flock of magpies, more than the con- 
versation of decorous young ladies. Groups came and departed; 
and Ida did not mark the changes, until, diverted from the con- 
templation of a splendid landscape by the sound of her own 
name, — she perceived a group near by, composed of four or five 
girls and as many young men, none of them her well-wishers or 
admirers ; — their attention divided between herself, and a sketch 
of St. John’s church. (^Josephine was the magnet of the circle, 
and behind her, was the smirking Pemberton. A single glance 
took in all this, and features and expression were immobile as 
before. It was Josephine’s voice she had heard; — its tones 
higher than usual. She neither desired, nor affected conceal- 
ment. 

<< As I was saying, the church-yard has been converted into a 
gymnasium. The cry is no longer, ^ Liberty or Death !’ — but 
Leap Frog or die !’ ” 

A general cacbjaa ^tion applauded this felicitous hit. 


ALONE. 


43 


On Saturday last’^ — continued the narrator — the unri- 
valled troupe were in the midst of one of their most elaborate 
performances, encouraged by the presence — am not sure, hut 
assisted by a select company of spectators. I need only specify 
Miss Ross and friend, name unknown — to assure you of the high 
respectability of the assemblage. Smiled upon by beauty, and 
animated to superhuman exertions by soft glances from one, per- 
chance too 4ear to his youthful heart,— the chief of the band 
threw his whole soul into his lofty undertaking, and alas ! his 
body, also ! He arose, like the Phoenix, from the ashes below, 
but to seek the earth again, having fallen from the frightful 
height of three feet. He lay upon the sod without sense or 
motion. The spectators pressed around, — but, breaking through 
the throng, came the fair nymphs aforesaid. One pillowed his 
head upon her arm, and drenched his dusty brow with tears ; her 
comrade wrung her hands, and shrieked for ‘ help ! lest he die V 
The crowd, at a respectful distance, looked on ; venturing a whis- 
per, now and then, to the purport that < it was as good as a play, 
and cost nothing.^ Warm brine and sounding air are poor medi- 
cines for a cracked skull; and the sufferer remaining insensible, 
a frantic damsel was seen, vaulting over tomb-stones, bonnetless 
and shawless, on the most direct route to the gate. A gallant 
man of healing was passing, and him she conducted to the pros- 
trate hero. Handkerchiefs and scarfs were stripped from necks 
and arms to staunch the trickling gore ; and supported by his 
affectionate nurses, the interesting youth gained his carriage. 
Miss Ross returned home with swollen eyes and downcast air. 
The afternoon, evening, and most of the next day were spent in 
retirement. This was a grief sympathy could not assuage.^^ 

<< Did she tell you of it asked one. 

No. Madam Rumor is my informant, and her story is 
vouched for by a gentleman, an eye witness of the catastrophe.^^ 
In this lamentable caricature, there was so little truth, and so 
much less wit, that'^it should have been beneath the contempt of 
her, at whom it was aimed ; but the ridicule was public. Her 
bonnet hid her face, but the angry blood surged over her neck in 
crimson streams. There was vengeful fury enough in the 
grasp, which drove the nails through the paper she held, into 
the palm, to have swept the tittering clique from the earth at a 


44 


ALONE. 


stroke. Whatever purpose of retaliation sprung into life, it was 
nipped in the bud. The desk of the supposed artist was in a 
niche ; and the projecting wall concealed it from the view of the 
party. He was almost in front of her ; and her burning eyes 
were arrested as they encountered his. There was no scorn, or 
none for her, 'in that regard ; but warning, interest and inquiry 
were blended with such earnestness, that, like the charmed bird, 
she could not move or look away. Even when he cast his eyes 
upon his work again, she did not, at once, withdraw hers. ,He 
might have been thirty ; pale, and not handsome, yet anything 
but ordinary in his appearance. If his countenance had be- 
trayed emotion, the previous moment, it vanished as his pen 
began to move. He was the automaton scribe, and the subdued 
Ida, drawing her shawl around her, quitted the place, without 
exchanging a syllable with any one. 

The spell of the silent rebuke was speedily dissolved, yet she 
was grateful that it had restrained her hasty retort. The heated 
in a quarrel, are. always the defeated. Morbid sensibility is the 
engenderer of suspicion, — and vice versa ; the two act and react, 
until a smile, a look, is the foundation of weeks— it may be, of 
years of wretchedness. To such a mind, ridicule is a venomed 
dart, piercing and poisoning, and pride but inflames the wound. 
Hr. Ballard had showed the courtesy of a gentleman, and the 
kindness of a friend in his entercourse with Ida. Unconsciously, 
she had come to like, almost to trust him — and this was at an 
end. He, and he, only, could have provided the outline of the 
narrative she had heard. She set her teeth hard, as she recalled 
her agitated greeting, at the gate; and his composure; her 
subsequent offers of assistance — officious” — she called them 
now, — and his calm acceptance. But it was base and unmanly, 
to make capital for sport of the weakness of a woman — a child, 
compared with himself ! <■<- They are all alike — I must believe 

it ! with hearts rotton to the core ! Heaven have mercy on me, 
until I am as callous as they I” And when he called, at some 
personal inconvenience, to impart the intelligence of her 
protege’s” recovery, she met him with a haughtiness that sur- 
prised and angered him ; and his futile attempt to throw down 
the barrier, resulted in his cutting short the interview. He had 
told Mr. Bead of Ida’s adventure ; but not in the spirit in which 


ALONE.' 


45 


its events were coarsely retailed. He lauded her kindness and 
self-possession, in terms too extravagant to suit the zero humanity 
of her guardian's narrow soul ; — as he wound up the story to his 
daughter — he was not a man to get up a fit of heroics, and had 
no idea that Ballard had so much palaver about him.'' 

If this vile doctrine were indeed true, if all men were alike, 
and like him, who of us would not unite in the orphan’s prayer 
— would not cry, with her, in despairing bitterness, << Heaven 
have mercy upon us, until we are all as callous as t hey !" 

(^She had no mercy upon herself. There was an unholy joy in 
ruthlessly trampling upon the few fiowers that grew in her path ; 
the ebullition of a desperate despair, as when one is tortured by 
a raging tooth, he probes, and grinds and shakes the offending 
member, self-inflicting yet more exquisite pain, but bearing it 
better, under the insane impression that he is' wreaking revenge 
upon its cause ; saying, with the poor Dutchman, << ache on ! 
ache on ! I can stand it as long as you can !" And ^^ache on ! 
ache on !" said Ida to her heart, the nerve will be dead by and 
by!" ' > 

We consign to the lower pit of darkness the bloody demons, 
cloaked in priestly stole, and speaking great, swelling words of 
wisdom" and peace, who tore limb from limb upon the rack, in 
zeal for the Faith !" but for him who pours out his atheistical 
misantrophy, — deadening, petrifying the soul, and blinding the 
eyes, until in this, our lovely earth, they see but a mighty char- 
nel-house, full of nameless abominations ; who traduces God, in 
despising His noblest work, and says : << Behold the Truth I" the 
murderer of the heart , — what shall be his portion 1 ) 

Carry Carleton's liking for the company of that proud, 
disagreeable girl," and her defence of her when attacked, was a 
nine days' wonder. True, she loved everybody," but here she 
manifested partiality, far more than accorded with her school- 
mates' notions of justice and reason. Carry was unwavering. 

I like her," said she, one recess, when her corps of affectionate 
teazers hung on and about her. It wounds me to hear you 
speak disparagingly of her. You must admit that she has 
redeeming traits. She is one of our best scholars, and if in- 
accessible, is upright and honorable, and will not stoop to do an 
ignoble action." 


46 


ALONE. 


Yes,” said Emma Glenn, happy to add her mite of praise, 
Don’t you remember she found Julia Mason’s composition 
behind a- desk in the cloak room, and brought it in examination 
day, although she knew that she was her most dangerous com- 
petitor for the prize ; I’m afraid I should have been tempted to 
keep it, or leave it where it was.” 

should not be afraid to trust you, dear,” said Carry. 
<< You are to ready too commend such conduct in others, to act a 
contrary part yourself. As for Ida — have any of you reflected 
how much of what you call her pride you are accountable for ?” 

We ! how?” was the unanimous exclamation. 

1 know my misdeeds are legion, and my good works, like 
Parson Wilkins’ text, < way off and hard to find,’ but < evil,’ 
indeed, as well as ^ few, have been the years of my pilgrimage,’ 
if I had anything to do with the formation of Ida Ross’ char- 
acter !”.said Ellen Morris, clasping her hands deprecatingly. 

<< Ellen ! Ellen !” remonstrated Carry, think what effect a 
remark like that would produce ! Would it increase her confi- 
dence in you or us ? Would she not avoid us more then ever ? 
She is an orphan, and should be dealt with more charitably, than 
if her feelings had expanded in a home like yours.” 

<< You do not believe she could love anybody !” said one of the 
group. 

Certainly I do, and I mean she shall love me. You would 
make the same resolution, if you knew her as I do.” 

An idea strikes me. Carry,” said the incorrigible Ellen 

<< She and we have affinity for each other — water and oil — you 
are the alkali, which is to reconcile us; we shall be a soap 
manufactory, to cleanse and regenerate the world.” 

(( A little vinegar facilitates the process, does it not ?” asked 
Carry, good-humoredly. 

You have come to a poor market for it, my good Alkali; 
upon second thoughts, you must leave me out of the combination 
altogether — salt, Attic, particularly, being detrimental to the 
integrity of the article in question.” 

<< Soap boiling and Attica !” said Anna Talbot, who was read- 
ing a little apart, your conversation takes an extended range . 
to-day, young ladies.” 

<< Both are warm places,” returned Ellen. << Our imaginations 


ALONE. 47 

needed thawing after perching so long upon the North Polo, 
id esty Ida Ross/' 

« You have offended Carry/^ said Emma, apprehensively, as 
the former walked towards the other room. 

Not offended, but grieved," she replied, with sweet gravity, 
should not love Ellen as I do, if I did not believe her heart 
to be oftener in the right place than her tongue." 

She passed into the recitation room, and there, her head. bent 
upon a desk, was Ida ! Carry was transfixed with dismay. The 
door was a-jar — she had heard it all ! But the relaxed limbs — 
the unmoving figure — was she then asleep? A itiinute’s stay 
confirmed this opinion ; and greatly relieved, she tripped lightly 
out by another door. Ida did not sleep. She had left the larger 
room at the close of morning recitations, seeking in the com- 
parative quiet of this, some ease from a severe headache. She 
did not think of concealment. After the gossip of the thought- 
less circle turned upon herself, she still supposed that her 
vicinity was known ; that their pretended consciousness was a 
covering for a renewal of mortifications. To move would have 
been matter for triumph, she was not disposed to supply. So 
unjust does suspicion make us ! 

Carry^s disinterested vindication electrified her. To risk the 
forfeiture of the favor of the many, for one who had never con- 
ferred an obligation — whose good will could profit her nothing ! 
in her experience, the act lacked a parallel. << Can it be," she 
thought, with stirring pulses, can it be that I may yet find a 
friend?" then, as Carry^s <^I am resolved she shall love me," 
reached her, she bowed in thankfulness. will trust ! will 
stake my last hope of ever meeting a kindred spirit upon this 
throw — will let her love me if she will, so help me God !" It 
was no light vow. 

Carry’s intrusion was unobserved ; she was only sensible of the 
incalescence of her frozen heart. The afternoon was cloudy, 
and her maid was surprised to see her mistress preparing for her 
promenade. 

<< Indeed, Miss Ida, you’ll get caught in the shower; 'twont 
be no little sprinkle, neither. When its starts to rain this time 
o’ year, it never holds up." 

« Oh, well !" returned Ida, familiarly, if we have another 


48 


ALONE. 


deluge, I may as well be out of doors as in. But give me my 
cloak, Rachel, I must have a short run before it sets in.^^ 

Josephine crossed the hall as she was going out. She stared, 
but made no remark upon her unseasonable excursion, It was 
less wonderful than the smile and nod she received. <^It is 
pleasant,’^ said Ida to herself, <<yet they talked of rain But 
the storm was not to be delayed by inward sunshine. The 
smoky fog grew denser ; through the ominous calm which per- 
vaded the city, the roaring of the distant Falls^^ was distinctly 
audible ; cows stood, solemnly herded together, the vapor from 
their nostrils scarcely thicker than the surrounding atmosphere ; 
and an occasional rain-drop trickling round their roughened 
hides. Then the pavement was spotted with the precursors of 
the prognosticated deluge, and a dash of spray into Ida^s face 
restored her to the perception of her actual position : a mile from 
home, night and a tempest approaching. Ere a dozen steps 
were retraced, she was met by the shower, — November rain, 
cutting and numbing as hail. Her veil, flimsy defence for her 
face, was dripping in a moment, and the water streamed in 
miniature cascades from her bonnet and shoulders. Bewildered 
and dizzy, she sprang, without a thought, except the instinct 
of self-preservation, into the shelter of a friendly porch. She 
laughed, despite her uneasiness at her situation. Wet, not 
quite to the skin, but more damp than is comfortable; sans 
umbrella, over-shoes, carriage or servant, and where, I cannot 
precisely determine.^' 

Walk in, doV’ said a pleasant voice behind her. A lady 
was holding the open door. I thank you,^^ Ida began, when a 
figure glanced out of the entry. Why, Ida I my dear creature ! 
how wet you are ! don’t stand there a moment. .1 am so glad 
you ran in ! This is my sister, Mrs. Dana — my friend. Miss 
Ross — now we will go directly up stairs, and take off your damp 
things !” and in the confusion of congratulations and regrets, Ida 
did not know where she was, until she was seated in Carry’s 
room ; both sisters occupied in divesting her of such portions of 
her apparel, as were likely, by their humidity, to endanger her 
health. 

You are very kind,’’ sue said ; but I cannot wait to have 
these dried. I must go home.” 




ALONE. 


49 


Impossible cried the impulsive Carry. << I will not hear 
of it. Just make up your mind to stay in your present quarters 
until clear weather.^^ 

« Let me insist upon your staying, Miss Ross said Mrs. 
Dana. I will send a messenger to your friends to inform them 
of your safety.'' 

<< She will stay," said Carry, looking very positive. 

Ida yielded with secret pleasure. Her guardian angel must 
have guided her into this haven. Mrs. Dana was Carry's senior 
by ten years or more, and resembled her more in voice and man- 
ner, than feature. They had the same kind eyes and dimpling 
smile. Having seen her guest comfortable, she gave her into 
Carry's charge, and went to forward her message to Mr. Read. 
<< How it rains !" said Carry, drawing aside the curtain. <^'It is 
lucky you came when you did. Did you know we lived here ?" 

No, it was entirely accidental. I was walking, and did not 
notice the clouds until the shower came ; then I took refuge in 
the nearest house." 

A happy accident for me," said Carry. I despaired of 
ever persuading you to visit me. This storm was sent for my 
express benefit. Sister and I are never tired of each other’s 
• company; but the little ones demand much of her time; 
and brother John — Mr. Dana, 'often brings home writing, or 
is detained at the store late at night, in the busy season, and 
I am rather lonely." 

You are bent upon convincing me that all the obligation is 
on your side,” returned Ida : but compare the mermaid- like 
fright which shocked you, with the decent young lady before 
you now, and recollect that my gratitude is proportionate to the 
improvement." 

A pretty little girl, about five years old, crept into the room. 

<<Come to aunt, Elle 1" said Carry. <<And speak to this 
lady." 

The child came up timidly to Ida, and slid her plump hand 
into hers. She did not struggle, as she lifted her into her lap, 
but looked steadfastly at her with her soft black eyes. What 
is your name ?" asked Ida. 

Elinor Dana," she answered, in her clear, childish voice. 

' 5 


60 


ALONE. 


<< Elinor 1’^ repeated Ida, and the little one felt herself pressed 
more closely to her hreast.^^ 

<< Do you like it inquired Carry. 

<< It was my mother’s name V’ was the low reply. Elle put 
up her lips for a kiss. She saw a pained look flit over the 
countenance of the visitor, and administered the only panacea 
she possessed. 

« Is she your sister’s eldest child V’ asked Ida, repaying the 
caress. 

<< Yes. She has two younger ; a boy and a girl. The babe is 
my namesake.” 

<< My brother is named Charles Arthur; after uncle Charley 
and uncle Arthur,” ventured Elle. 

« And you love him very dearly, — do you not V’ said Ida. 

Yes ma’am ; I love papa and mamma, and aunt Carry, and 
uncle Charley, and uncle Arthur, and grandpa, and sister and 
brother,” said the child, running over the names with a volu- 
bility that showed how used she was to the repetition. 

. Will you love me too ?” asked Ida. The anxiety with which 
she awaited the reply will not be sneered at by those who have 
been, like her, starvelings in affection. 

« Yes, you too, but I don’t know, what to call you.” 

« My name is Ida.” 

« Miss Ida, or cousin Ida?’’ 

Cousin !” exclaimed Ida, catching at the word. « Call me 
cousin !” 

Elle claims as relatives, all whom she loves,” observed Carry; 
« and we encourage her in the practice. Miss is formal ; and the 
absence of any such prefix gives a disrespectful air to a child’s 
address.’^ 

<< She speaks of her uncles. Have you brothers ?” 

« She alludes to Mr. Dana’s brothers,” said Carry, with a 
slight blush, which Ida remembered, afterwards. They were 
wards of my father’s; and we regard them as a part of the 
family.” 

Ida amused herself by coaxing forth Elle’s prattle; and 
related, as reward for her sociability, a marvellous fairy tale, 
which expanded her eyes to their utmost circle, and interested 
even Carry. Mrs. Dana entered at the finale. 


ALONE . 


51 


« Papa has come, Elle, and would be happy to see Miss Ross. 
Tea is ready, too. I hope she has not annoyed you,'^ — to Ida. 

Annoyed ! oh no, ma’am ! we are good friends, and have had 
a nice talk, have we not, darling?” 

Playing with a child is a very peurile amusement — what room 
is there for the exercise of the reasoning faculties ; what oppor- 
tunity for gaining new views of the -world or of truth? Still 
Ida was happier, and ^she was silly enough to think, wiser. A 
germ was set, which should he developed by and by. 

Mr. Dana was in the supper-room. He was tall and dark, 
grave-looking when silent ; but as he acknowledged the intro- 
duction to herself, and stooped to kiss Elle, his smile rendered 
him. exceedingly handsome. The proud tenderness of his wife 
was beautiful to behold ; and he unbent all that was stern in his 
nature, in her presence, or Carry’s. The repast went off delight- 
fully. There were no sarcastic flings at society and individuals, 
and clash of combat, imperfectly drowned by courteous phrase- 
ology, such as characterized similar occasions at Mr. Read’s. 
Free to act and speak, without dread of criticism, Ida acquitted 
herself well. She and her entertainers were equally charmed ; 
and Carry sat by, contented with the success of her benevolent 
efforts. Mr. Dana’s business, required his attention, immediately 
after supper; Mrs. Dana sat with the girls awhile, then repaired 
to her nursery. <^We shall not be troubled by visitors to-night,” 
said Carry. << What say you to adjourning to our chamber ? It 
is more snug than these empty parlors.” 

They visited the nursery in their way. Elle opened ner eyes 
as her friend kissed her coral lips, but their lids fell again 
directly, and her good night” died in a drowsy murmur. The 
boy was sleeping soundly, and little Carry lay quietly wakeful 
upon her mother’s lap. << These are my treasures,” said the 
fond parent, smiling at Ida’s admiration of the group.” 

Treasures she would not barter for the wealth of both 
Indies,” added Carry. You are a diplomatist, Ida, you have 
found sister’s blind side by praising her pets.” 

You, who are so accustomed to these pretty playthings, do 
not know how lovely they are to one who is not so favored,” 
replied Ida. 

<^Ah! there you are in error. No one can love the sweet 


62 


ALONE. 


angels as I do, except the mother who bore them. Now,^' con 
tinned she, when they were in their room, taking from a ward 
robe two dressing-gowns, “ I move that we don these, and makf 
ourselves comfortable generally.^' 

And cozily comfortable they appeared, ensconsed in arm- 
chairs, in front of that most sparkling of coal-fires ; a waiter of 
apples and nuts sent up by the thoughtful Mrs. Dana, on a 
Stand between them ; shutters and curtains closed, and the storm 
roaring and driving without. 

I no longer wonder at your cheerfulness, since I have seen 
your home,^^ said Ida. << All the good things of life are mingled 
in your cup.^^ 

. << You are right, I am very happy, but not more so than hun- 
dreds of others. My countenance would be grievously marred, 
if I suspected this was not so.^' 

' Fraternizing again. I have reflected and observed much 
since our talk in the cemetery, and am almost persuaded that you 
have chosen the easiest method of living ; that < where ignorance 
is bliss, His folly to be wise.^ Your system has brought most 
pleasure thus far, whether it will endure the test of time and 
experience, is another question.^^ 

“ You alarm me,^' answered Carry. Your vague hints 
excite my curiosity, yet do not indicate the description of dan- 
gers I am to encounter. Let us understand each other — as the 
Methodist class-leaders have it, ^ tell our experiences.^ 

<< Mine may be briefly summed up,'^ said Ida, sadly. 

* The frigid and unfeeling thrive the best; 

And a warm heart in this cold world, is like 
A beacon light; — wasting its feeble light 
Upon the wintry deep, that feels it not — 

Trembling with each pitiless blast that blows, 

’Till its faint fire is spent.’ ” 

(( You have known this 1” asked Carry. 

<< In all its bitterness V* 

And the writer felt, or thought he felt the force of their 
meaning, when "he penned the lines. Have you ever met with 
a warm heart besides your own 

Yes, one — the home of excellence and aifection.^' 

Then, < this cold world’ has produced three, to whom its 
biting atmosphere was uncongenial — may there not be more? 


ALONE. 


53 


I look into my bosom, and discover there charity and good-will 
towards men ; why should I deny the existence of like feelings 
in those who are partakers of the same nature, in all other 
respects 

Fair logic; but let us examine facts. Take an example so 
frequently cited, as to appear hacknied, yet none the less true 
to nature. Your wealth, or situation, or influence enables you 
to beneflt those who style themselves your friends. You are 
courted, beloved, popular. A change in these adventitious cir- 
cumstances alters everything. With unabated desires for love 
or distinction, you are a clod of the earth, a cumberer of the 
ground. The stream of adulation flows in another direction; 
former acquaintances pass you with averted eyes, or chilling 
recognitions ; you are sought by no new ones. Men do not go 
to a barren tree, or a dried fountain. You shake your head ; — 
this is not a fancy sketch. Listen to a leaf from my history. 
Until two years ago I never received a harsh word, or an unlov- 
ing look. My mother was the benefactress of the poor, for 
miles around, and I was her almoner. Blessings and smiles 
hailed me wherever I went. I had no conception of sorfows 
she could not alleviate ; and I remember thinking — foolish child 
that I was ! that her empire of hearts was worth the glory of an 
Alexander or Napoleon. She died ! and where are the fruits of 
her loving kindness? If her memory lives in another breast 
than that of her only child, I do not know it 

There were tears in Carry’s eyes, already, and the slight 
tremor of her speech was grateful music to the orphan’s ear. 

« You quitted your home, and all who knew her, and came 
to a strange city, where it was necessary for you to earn love as 
she had done. I have no doubt, nay, I am sure, that by the 
creatures of her bounty, her memory is preserved as a holy 
thing ; and that they are ready to extend the affection they had 
for her, to her child. Here, she was comparatively unknown. 
To carry out your metaphor of the tree, the graft cut from the 
parent stock must bear fruit for itself. .1 know the world is 
generally selfish, but I am convinced that our reprobation of it 
often arises from the growth of a similar weakness in ourselves. 
May it not be that the dearth of love, so painfully felt by you, 
proceeds in part, from the ignorance of your associates as to the 

5 * 


54 


ALONE. 


real state of your mind, or from an exacting spirit in yourself? 
Pardon my freedom ; it is meant in kindness/^ 

I thank you for your candor. The truth, if unpalatable, 
cannot offend.^’ 

Then, trusting to your forbearance, I will go more into par- 
ticulars. To curry favor, in school, or elsewhere, is as repugnant 
to me as to you ; but do we sacrifice self-respect, by swaying 
to the popular voice, wheiv no abandonment of principle is 
required? or play the hypocrite, in concealing prejudices and 
humors that conflict with the sentiments of others: in uniting, 
with apparent willingness, in the common cause ? We cannot 
like — we may help all. I say it in humility — there is one rule 
by which I do not fear to be judged : ^ Whatsoever ye would 
that men should do unto you, do ye even so to them.^ 

I understand your allusions. You think my reserve pro- 
ceeds from pride alone. What if I were to tell you’^ — -and her 
voice sank, that haughty as I seem, I would cringe — lie in the 
dust — to the most inferior of my daily companions, if she would 
givft me love. Believe me, it is this unquenchable thirst — this 
longing for what is unattainable by me, which has forced me to 
court its opposite — hate ! I will not lay my heart bare to those 
who would spurn it. It is said, the hind seeks an obscure covert, 
to die from the wound for which his unhurt comrades would 
shun him. You cannot know — it would be improper for me to 
recount my fruitless endeavors to win the coveted blessing, at 
any price, even the loss of the self-respect you imagine I value 
so highly. It is enough that experiences, such as I hope may 
never be yours, have taught me to entrench myself in my for- 
tress of self-confidence, from whence I hurl disdain upon besieg- 
ing powers. I am thought independent*, the world has made 
me so. No woman is independent from nature or choice.^^ . 

Carry looked musingly in the fire. I am not certain,^^ she 
said, that I have a right to repeat what was told me, by one 
who never thought that you would hear it. I do not see, how- 
ever, that it can do harm, and I wish to show you, that I am 
not ignorant of some of your trials. A friend of mine, whose 
name I am not at liberty to mention, was in F ^s paint- 

ing-rooms on the afternoon of your visit. The artist was an 
acquaintance, and having letters to write, he ofiPered to occupy 


ALONE. 


55 


his desk while Mr. F should seek recreation. He was an 

auditor of Josephine’s Read’s garbled story of our church-yard 
adventure ; he had heard a true statement from me. . Had my 
name been used, as it would have been if she had known who 
your companion was, he would have spoken. As it was, his indig- 
nation nearly got the better of his prudence. He identified you 
as the heroine of the tale, by the significant gestures and winks 
of the ill-mannered party, and commended your equanimity and 
forbearance.” 

He did not add, that his timely warning suppressed the 
responsive storm ?” said Ida. 

Why ! did he speak ?” 

No. He only looked, but such a look !” 

Carry laughed. He is a strange mortal ! But to return to 
yourself. These exhibitions of depravity and cold-heartedness, 
are not adapted to raise our estimate of mankind; yet even 
then, there was one present, who was on the side of right and 
humanity; who saw no cause for mirth in the sufferings of a 
child, or the anxieties of two inexperienced girls.” 

Hr. Ballard did, it seems,” said Ida, the gloomy look 
returning. 

Hid Josephine hear of the affair from him?” 

I suppose so. Who else knew it ?” 

True. But is it not more probable that she gave it her 
own coloring, than that he made a jest of us?” We will lean 
towards mercy in our judgment.” 

You are a veritable alchemist,” said Ida. You would 
ferret out gold, even in the dross of my character.” 

Try me !” replied Carry. But bear in mind, nothing is 
to be secreted; no hard thoughts or jaundiced investigations. 
All must be cast into the crucible.” 

And tried by what fire ?” inquired Ida. 

<< Love !” said the warm-hearted girl, kneeling beside her, 
and winding her arms about her waist. Love me, Ida ! and 
if I prove heartless and deceitful, I will cease to plead for my 
brothers and sisters.” 

The glad tears that impearled her bright locks, replied 


56 


ALONE. 


CHAPTER VI. 

Teach me to gain hearts as you do I” Ida prayed, on the 
memorable evening of the storm, and Carry answered, blithely. 
Love, and live for others 

To her, natural disposition and practice made the task easy ; 
for her pupil, it was arduous beyond her worst expectation. Her 
reputation was established; the wall she had erected between 
herself and her associates, was not to be undermined or scaled 
in a day. Her overtures of familiarity and service was unskil- 
fully made; her very timidity construed into a labored con- 
descension. “ It is a hopeless endeavor — they will never care 
for me said she, despondingly — once and again, and Carry 
still predicted — Love will win love. , Persevere The birth 
and growth of their attachment was remarkable. Dissimilar in 
mind,* made more so in manner, by education and circumstances, 
there existed from the earliest stage of their friendship, perfect 
confidence in each other’s affection. Carry had an infallible 
perception of genuine worth, hidden though it might be; and 
Ida clung drowningly to this last anchor — the sole tie that con- 
nected her with her race. Like most deep feelings, its current 
was noiseless. They were much together; — that was not strange, 
since their studies were the same. They had separate compart- 
ments of one desk ; and none marked how often one book was 
conned by both; brown and fair curls mingling; and hands 
clasped in mute tenderness. Still less did they dream of the 
miraculous confluence of the sun-bright stream with the turbid 
torrent, and the wondrous music of their flow. 

They were sitting thus one forenoon, when an assistant teacher 
drew near, and inquired if there were a vacant seat in their 
vicinity. 

A new scholar !” buzzed from fifty tongues; and the eyes 
of our two students strayed with the rest, to the door. 

Miss Pratt, young ladies !” introduced Mr. Purcell. 

The girls arose, in conformance with their custom of recep- 
tion, and bowed to the figure that followed him into the room. 


57 


ALONE. 

^She was short and fat — << dumpy,” in vulgar parlance ; and so 
homely, as to countenance Ellen Morris^ report to another 
department — that the farmers in the neighborhood where she 
was < riz,^ had forwarded a petition, beseeching her to return, 
their corn having suffered greatly from the depredations of the 
crows since her departure; a thing unheard of, previously, in 
that part of the country.” Her eyes were small and grey ; her 
nose a ruddy snub;” her lips curiously puckered up ; and her 
skin might have owed its dappled red to the drippings of the 
carroty frizette overshadowing it. Her dress was showy and 
outr6; a rainbow silk trebly -flounced ; an embroidered lace cape; 
white kid gloves ; a gold cable of startling dimensions ; two 
bracelets of corresponding size, and different patterns; a brooch 
that matched neither, and out-glittered both ; while blue, green, 
and red stones, with heavy settings, loaded the thick fingers to 
the knuckles^ 

Awe of their preceptor in some, good breeding in others, 
prevented any audible outbreak of amusement ; but what school 
girl on the qui vive for diversion could keep from smiling ? Mr. 
Purcell frowned as his eye travelled from one mirthful face to 
another, but a twinkle from Ellen Morris’ dancing orbs, neutra- 
lized the effort ; ,and there was a perceptible twich of his risible 
muscle as he rapped for order.” Ida and Garry had not 
escaped the contagion, an indulgence for which they reproached 
themselves. 

Poor girl !” whispered Carry. She knows no better. She 
is to be pitied instead of laughed at.” And Ida thought of her 
loneliness, upon her induction into these strange scenes. “ I can 
lesson her discomfort, and, uninfluenced by prejudice, she will be 
thankful, perhaps will become fond of me.” 

Carry read her resolve in her thoughtful survey of the stran- 
ger; but while she loved and honoured her for it, her heart 
misgave her as she looked more attentively at the object of the 
purposed charity. Her physiogonomy was not more irregular 
than unpleasant in its expression. She had opened a book, to be 
in the fashion in this as in every thing else, but her regards were 
wandering around the room in scared yet unblushing curiosity, 
flustered at being in a crowd, without a doubt as to her ability 
to cope with the best of them. Before the exercises of the 


58 


ALONE. 


forenoon were concluded, she was summoned to see a visitor, and 
did not reappear before intermission. Then Ida, having occasion 
to go into a small room, where bonnets and cloaks were hung, 
found her standing at the window, crying She wheeled about 
sharply on hearing a step; her eyes swelled almost out of sight, 
and her whole appearance frightful in its disorder. 

<< What do you want T’ she asked, querulously. 

I did not know you were here,^' said Ida. << What is the 
matter ? Are you sick ? Can I help you 

No. My pa’s is gone away \” A fresh burst. 

<< Gone ! where V* 

<< Gone home ! and I don’t want to stay in this nasty, mean 
place. I don’t want to go to school no more — nowhar !” 

To hint at the obvious propriety of * the deprecated measure 
was a temptation policy bade her resist, and Ida was actually 
nonplussed in casting about in her mind for appropriate consola- 
tion. 

You will like us better than you expect,” she said, rather 
awkwardly; and your father will come soon to see you again 
■ — will he not ?” 

Yes ; he’s cornin’ next week. He is a representative !” 
mouthing the word magniloquently. 

A — what ?” 

He belongs to the legislater. Lor ! didn’t you know that?” 

“ No,” replied Ida, humbly; << I am so little conversant with 
State affairs. You will be glad to have him so near.” 

(_“I don’t care much about it ; I want to go home and stay 
with ma !” beginning to sob. Neither her unpolished manners, 
nor her accent, combining, as it did, the most vicious of Virginia 
provincialisms, with the guturals of the African ; nor her noisy 
grief, could make Ida forget that she was a home-sick child — 
weeping for her mother I She too had mourned, and refused 
to be comforted, because hers was not.” Miss Pratt’s sorrow, 
hjDwever, was very garrulous.^ 

Now, at home,” she continued, I did jest as I pleased ; I 
lay down most all day. Ma said reading was bad for my head ; 
and so’tis; it makes me as stupid as I don’t know what; and. 
aint no use besides. I can play on the pianny ; gentleme/i don’t 


# 

ALONE. 59 

care for nothing else when they go to see the ladies. You all 
don’t have no beaux while you’re at school, do you 

Ida smiled at this unlooked for query. We do not have 
much leisure for amusements,” she rejoined. 

<< And can’t you go to the theatre, and to shows and parties?” 
asked Miss Pratt, alarmed. 

There are no rules on the subject; but it is thought that a 
young lady is better fitted to go into society, when her mind and 
manners are formed by time and study.” 

Mine are enough formed, I know,” complacently glancing 
from her attire to Ida’s plain merino, and black silk apron. 

0^ How awful ugly all the girls dress ! Aint none of ’em rich ?” 

<< I- believe so ; but the school-girls here dress simply.” 

shan’t! My pa’s able to give me decent clothes, and I 
mean to have ’em. I don’t like Richmond a single bit. Nobody 
don’t take no more notice of me than if £ wan’t nobody — no 
better than other folks.”J) 

« You are not acquainted yet. There are some pleasant girls 
amongst us ; and you will love Mr. Pu»cell.” 

« Is he strict, much ? Does he make you get hard lessons ?” 

He is very kind and considerate.” 
despise teachers and books. Thank patience I I am going 
to turn out after this session. Ma was married at fifteen, and 
I’m going on seventeen.” 

I am quite seventeen, but I am not tired of books. When 
I leave school, I shall adopt a regular plan of study and 
reading.” 

Good gracious I Why, don’t you expect to get married ? 
What are you going to learn so much for ? I reckon you’re 
going to teach school.” 

« No; I study because I like to do it.” 

<< Pshaw! you talk like your teacher was in the room. I 
don’t believe that.’* 

a The school-bell !” interrupted Ida, happy to be released. 

Miss Pratt hung back. << I don’t want to go where all them 
girls are. Will Mr. What’s-his-name be mad if I stay here?” 

« He will probably send for you.” 

a Then I might’s well go now. I don’t care— I’m as good as 
any of ’em.” 


60 


ALONE. 


<< What, and who is she inquired Carry^ when school was 
out. 

A silly, neglected child,^^ responded her friend. Shame- 
fully ignorant, when we consider her father’s station. He is a 
member of the legislature.’’ 

Ah ! can it be the delegate from A ? I have heard of 

him. He is a clever politician, and an educated man. I am 
astonished !” 

^ So were all who made the acquaintance of his daughter. Mr. 
Pratt had done his best to serve his country and increase his 
fortune. The rearing of his phildren was confided to a weak and 
foolishly fond mother. The only girl was alternately stuffed and 
dosed, until the Tpedicurn of intellectual strength nature might 
have granted her, was nearly destroyed ; the arable soil exhausted 
by the rank weed growth. It was just after his election to the 
House of Representatives, that the father made simultaneously 
two astounding discoveries — that physically, his daughter was 
no longer a child, and that she was a dunce. He had paid a 
teacher to superintend her education, and supposed she had done 
her duty ; whereas, the prudent governess, having little more 
sense than her pupil, and loving her ease fully as well, had en- 
joyed her sinecure of a situation with no compunctious visitings 
of conscience. She acted according to Mrs. Pratt’s instruc- 
tions.” It was a thunderbolt to the feminine trio when the 
Representative introduced a bill of amendment, paid the aoi- 
disant instructress for the work she had not performed, inform- 
ing her that her services were at an end ; and ordered the mother 
to resign her spoiled child to him, « he would see what could be 
done towards redeeming the time.” He carried his point in the 
teeth of a windy and watery tempest, and Miss Celestia Pratt” 
was duly entered _pn the roll-book of Mr. Purcell’s justly cele- 
brated institution. J She soon ceased to complain that she was not 
noticed. The second day of her attendance she fell in with 
Ellen Morris and her coterie. By the time the half hour’s recess 
was over, they were enlightened as to her past life, and future 
aspirations, and supplied with the material of a year’s fun-making; 
while she was reinstated in her self-consequence, and ready to 
strike hands with them in any scheme they chalked out. 


ALONE. 61 

It is a shame/^ said Ida, who, with Carry kept aloof, 
silent spectators. Cannot she see what they are doing V’ 

It will be a severe, but perhaps a salutary lesson,^^ replied 
Carry. 

<< But the poor creature will be the butt of the school.^' 

- << And of the community,^^ said Carry. << I have reasoned 
with Ellen ; — she is not evil disposed, but would compass sea 
and land for as rich a joke as this promises to be. My influence 
can effect nothing.^^ 

What if I warn the girl said Ida. « Must she pay the 
penalty of her parent’s fault 

My darling,” returned Carry, affectionately, I am learning 
prudence from you, and I verily believe I have imparted to you 
some of my inconsiderateness. What hold have you on this Miss 
Pratt’s confidence? Ellen and her clique are as likely to be in 
the right as yourself. In her estimation they are more entitled 
to credence. They play upon the string of self — ^you will utter 
a distasteful truth. Let her and them alone, except so far as 
your individual self is concerned. Attract each one to you, and 
you may be the means of bringing them together.” 

Ellen Morris burst into the school-room one morning in a 
gale of excitement. 

It was early, and none of the teachers were present, the girls 
were gathered in knots about the stove and desks. 

Oh girls !” she cried, I hurried to get here before my angel 
Celestia. I have the best thing to tell you. You must know 
she and I were invited, with several others, to take tea at Uncle 
James’ last evening. We had not been there long before aunt 
said that Mr. Dermott was expected. < I have it,’ thought I. I 
gave Celestia a nudge, < Do you hear that ?” 

< What ?’ said she. 

< The great traveller, Mr. Dermott, is to be here presently. 
Ain’t you glad ?” 

< Who is he ? I never heard of him. 

i Oh Celestia! and you a representative’s daughter I and he * 
invited expressly to meet you — it is well no one overheard you — 
and you have not composed your conversation either? What 
will you do ? He is one of the famous authors you hear so much 

6 • 


62 


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of. They will make a statute of him when he dies, like Wash- 
ington in the capitol, you know.' 

<< < You don't say so !' 

« < Yes, and he has seen the seven wonders of the world, and 
elephants, and rhinoceros, and polypi, and hippotami, and Dawa- 
lageri, and anthropophagi.' 

^ *<<< Good gracious!' said she, looking wild, ^You reckon he 
will speak to me ? do tell me something to say 1' 

« < Could you repeat those names V 

< That T couldn't, to save my life !' 

<< < Well, — let me see, — ^you must be very sober and wise; 
only saying < yes' and ^ no,' till he gets to talking of books. 
Then is the time to show off. Literary people never inquire 
what you remember in a book, if you say you have read it.' 

< Yes,' she struck in, with a grin. < So when he asks me if 
I've read them he's talking about. I'm a-going to say <yes' — 
(you know she is always < going, going, gone.') < He aint a-go- 
ing to catch me. I'll show him !' 

<< < Right,' said I; ^ and question him about two or three, 
which you name yourself ; that will finish the business.' 
ml don't know none.' 

« < Don't you ? Then I will write off a short list. Keep the 
paper in your hand; and when he is fairly under way talking, 
you steal a sly peep at it.' Oh ! it was enrapturing to see how 
she held on to that slip of paper ! poring over it every five 
minutes before Mr. Dermott's arrival, and once in two minutes 
afterwards. She would study it for a second, then her lips would 
move, until the time for another peep ; she was getting it by 
heart, staring at him all the while. By and by he happened to 
be near her ; and said something about the Panorama. She had 
been on tiptoe for the last hour, lest her trouble should be thrown 
away ; and resolved not to lose this opportunity, she spoke out 
as loudly as addressing a deaf person — 

“ ^ Mr. Dermarck ! have you ever read Plutarch-es Liv-es, 
Homer's Eyelids, Dance's Diving Comedy and Campbell's Gra- 
titude of Wimming V I wish you could have seen him !" ^ 

<< O Ellen ! Ellen !" chorussed twenty voices ; and the crowd 
rocked in uncontrollable merriment. Carry, and one or two 


ALONE. 63 

more were grave ; and an indignant voice said, « How wickedly 
heartless 

There was no mistaking the meaning and emphasis of the 
interjection. Ellen crimsoned to the roots of her hair. She 
retorted with a spirit entirely opposite to her usual sportive 
gaiety. 

One, whose lowest thoughts soar so far above the common 
herd, as Miss Ross, cannot be expected to understand a piece of 
harmless pleasantry.^' 

Ida had unluckily employed the oft-quoted words, the com- 
mon herd of mankind," in a written composition j and this was 
not the first time it had been used as an offensive missile. 

One must stoop low indeed. Miss Morris," was the instant 
rejoinder, to see harmless pleasantry in a plot for the disgrace 
of an unoffending school-mate." 

<< Ida! Ellen 1" exclaimed Carry, laying her hand upon Ellen's 
mouth, and stifiing her reply. For my sake, girls — if not for 
your own — say no more ! Ida ! what have you to do with this 
miserable affair?" 

« I have done !" said Ida, bitterly ; Defence of right and 
truth is better left unattempted here /" 

Th’e girls fell back as she crossed to her seat. The sentence 
sunk into every mind ; and the expression of each one showed 
that she appropriated it. Carry's head dropped upon Ellen's 
shoulder ; and sullenly vindictive as was the latter, she was not 
unmoved by the quiver of the slender frame. Mr. Purcell’s 
entrance put an end to the scene. That was a wretched day to 
more than one heart. Ida's was well-nigh bursting. It mattered 
not that her prospects of popularity were, for the present, ship- 
wrecked ; that her resolutions of patience and gentleness had 
broken, like dry straws, at the breeze of passion ; — Carry was 
wounded — perhaps offended — perhaps estranged 1 Still, what 
have I done ?" whispered pride, spoken truth, and defended 
the absent!" But conscience answered — Anger, not justice 
was the prompter," and again, every feeling merged in one — 
a What will Carry think ?" She did not offer her book as usual 
— did not meet her eye. She would have read no resentment 
there ; the pale, sad face told of suffering, with no admixture of 
baser motives. The intermission was dull. Miss Celestia' 


64 


ALONE. 


extravagant description of the party/^ and the gentle??i€n’^ 
she was interduced to/’ hardly excited a smile. A nameless 
depression was upon all. Ellen, their ringleader in mischief, 
and Carry, the willing participant in their innocent pleasures, 
were wanting from their bandi They remained at their desks, 
seemingly engaged in study, until almost school-time, when 
Carry went around to the other, whispered a word ; and they 
left the apartment together. They returned arm in arm, as Ida, 
who had gone home in recess, more to be quieted and refreshed 
by the cool air, than for luncheon, — entered from the street. 
She remarked their affectionate air, and happier faces with 
goading envy. Ellen is worth conciliating. It would be 
dangerous to break with her. There can be no hesitancy, with 
the fair words of the crowd in one scale — and Ida Ross, unknown 
and unbeloved, in the other. Be it so I” But awakened affec- 
tion had had a taste of its proper nutriment, and was not to be 
famished into silence. The afternoon wore heavily away in the 
unspoken anguish of love and pride and suspicion. Careless of 
remarks or conjectures, she declined dinner, and retired at once 
to her chamber, when she reached home. It might have been 
one hour ; — it might have been three, that she had knelt or laid 
upon the floor, her head upon a stool, before the mourner for 
the dead bird ; — weeping and thinking, and seeming to grow a 
year older with each flood of grief ; when there came a tap at the 
door. Josephine was the first thought — to spring to the 
mirror, brush the tumbled hair, and dash rosewater over the 
discolored cheeks, the work of the next minute ; then she said 
sleepily — Who is there ?” 

It is I — Carry 

The bolt was withdrawn, and the intruder lay, sobbing upon 
her breast. 

<^Oh, Ida I how could you be angry with me ?” 

Ida struggled with the answering drops, but they would come. 

<< I thought you had thrown me off. Carry I” 

<< You could not — after my note.^^ 

Your note I” 

I slipped it into your French Grammar, as it lay open before 
your eyes ; and you shut the book and put it aside, — I supposed 
to read it* at your leisure.^^ 


ALONE. 


65 


I did not see it/' 

She went to her satchel, and brought forth the Grammar. 

There it is T' said Carry, as a folded paper fell from within it. 
“ Do not read it. I will tell you its contents. I asked your 
forgiveness for interrupting you so rudely this morning ; but 
these public disputes lead to so much evil. Ellen was wrong ; 
she has said so to me ; and is ready to be your friend, if you 
consent. Her conduct was blameably thoughtless ; and her 
quick temper could not submit to a rebuke so openly administered. 
I was abrupt, but it was not because I was angry with, or did 
not love you. Ellen’s taunt was extremely provoking” — 

‘‘Stop! stop! Carry! It is I, who should sue for pardon, 
and excuse, if I can, my unbecoming heat, and after doubts of 
your friendship. I cannot tell you what a fearful warfare has 
waged within me; — how much incensed I was to see you and 
Ellen come in so lovingly, at noon ; — ^how Ishmael-like I felt ; 
— every man’s hand against me, and mine against the universe, 
and Him who made it,” she added, with an intonation of awe. 
“ Can you love me after hearing this, Carry ?” 

“ Always — always !” 

Ellen was amazed, that afternoon, on being summoned to 
receive visitors, to find in them her two class-mates, and more 
astounded to hear from her antagonist of the morning, a frank 
and graceful apology for her hasty strictures upon her conduct 
and words. Ellen was, as she phrased it, “great upon high- 
flown speeches; but this was an extraordinary occasion, and 
demanded a deviation from ordinary rules; so I condescended, for 
once, to make use of simple language.” 

“ If simple, itwas satisfactory, and they parted most amicably. 
It was past sunset, when the friends arrived at Mr. Read’s doorj 
Ida stood upon the steps, watching Carry, as she tripped away 
into the dusk. Others would have seen only a pretty girl, with 
a smile like May sunshine ; — to the fond eyes that followed her, 
she was an angel of love, upon whom, nothing of evil could gaze 
without adoration and contrition ; — and now the light of a new 
blessing beaming upon her brow — the blessing of the peace- 
maker ! 


6 * 


66 


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CHAPTEK VII. 

Spring had departed, and the good citizens of Richmond 
complained as piteously of the heat, as though every zephyr 
that awoke for miles around, did not sweep over their seven 
hills freighted with the perfume of gardens and groves, instead 
of the reeking odors of a thronged city. And in our day, as 
then, airy, spacious villas are forsaken, while their infatuated 
denizens hie away to pay $50 per week, for a genteel sty, six 
feet by ten ; with the privilege of eating such fare, as in the 
event of its appearance upon their own boards, would find its 
way back to the place where it was concocted, accompanied by 
an anathematised warning to the cook and of gulping down 
unwholesomely-copious draughts of a nauseous liquid, which the 
stomach neither relishes, nor needs. There is dancing all 
night, Hill broad day-light,^^ a dusty drive to assist the diges- 
tion of a breakfast, one’s common sense, no less than the 
digerent organs assures him is insured against chylifaction ; 
promenading until dinner, which meal is taken in full dress ; — 
another drive, or an enervating siesta, and it is time to dress for 
supper ; then dancing again ; and at the end of the season,” 
the fashionable votaries return, jaded and debilitated, to home 
and comfort, and tell you, with a ghastly smile, that they have 
been ruralizing at the Carburretted, Sulphuretted, Chalybeate 
Springs.” Ruralising at the Springs ! sketching a landscape 
from an Express train — sleeping in a canal-boat — reciprocating 
ideas with a talkative woman ! 

Mr. Read came home to tea, on a sultry July evening, with 
some crotchet in his brain. That could be seen with half an 
eye; and Josephine was affable to a distressing degree, to coax 
the stranger into an earlier incubation, than would occur without 
artificial warmth. The effects of her Eecolodeon were presently 
apparent. - 

When does your session close, Josey?” he inquired. 

< On Friday, sir.” 


ALONE. 


67 


Then you will be on your head to quit town, like everybody 
else.’^ 

I have no solicitude on the subject, sir. I am as indifferent 
to it, as to many other things people rave about.'^ 

You are your father’s child, cool and hard !” observed her 
parent, with a gratified look. 

But for a novelty, what say you to a trip to Saratoga 

I should like it, sir, — ^if you accompany me.” 

I have business which takes me in that direction, and I 
thought, as you are to ^ come out’ next winter, it would sound 
well to have made your d4but at such a fashionable place.” 

J osephine smiled ; she could appreciate this argument. The 
journey was discussed — the expenses, dress, appearance, etc. 
Ida sat by, taciturn and unconsulted. She had a motive in 
remaining. Finally, she contrived to throw in a word. 

I wish to inform you of mi/ arrangements for the summer, 
sir, if you have time to listen.” 

Yours ! they are the same as ours, of course. Do you 
imagine that I would permit my daughter to travel without a 
female companion, or give her an advantage, you are not to 
share !” 

The latter clause was so clearly an afterthought, and dove- 
tailed so oddly with its antecedent, that Ida’s smile was almost 
a sneer. 

I am sorry, sir, that you are disappointed in your calcula- 
tions; but as Josephine has a maid, I do not deem my attendance 
indispensable. If I leave town, I shall go in another direction, 
unless you positively forbid it.” 

“ And what place is to be honored by your preference ? May 
I presume to ask ?” 

<< I shall go home witl? Miss Carleton.” 

Ahem ! I comprehend. I should have anticipated this from 
your overpowering intimacy. You have played your cards badly, 
Josephine. Why have you not ingratiated yourself with some 
^ divine creature,’ who has a rich papa ? It is a capital means 
of extending one’s acquaintance, and sparing one’s pUrse. How 
long do you intend to sponge — to remain, I mean, with ^our 
friend, Miss Boss ?” 

« I may not return before Christmas. I hear that the holi- 


68 


ALONE. 


days are celebrated with much style and festivity, in the 
country/^ she replied. 

Mr. Kead suppressed something very like an oath, at her 
calm assurance. 

“ When do you go 

, Next Monday. Dr. Carleton is expected daily. Did I under 
stand you to say, that you did not object 

Confound it ! what do I care where, or when you go V* 

Oh Carry apostrophized Ida, shutting herself in her room. 

Even you could not be charitable and forbearing here. It is 
hard ! hard 

That is unquestionably the most wrong-headed girl I know,’' 
said Mr. Read, to his daughter. 

I am heartily glad she is not going with us," was the answer 

She would be of no use to me, and an additional care to you.' 
Maybe so, maybe not. Her travelling expenses would not 
have come out of my pocket; and there are advantages, some- 
times, in having two ladies, a larger and better room, and such 
like ; you pay the same price, and have twice the value of your 
money. You understand 

“ I don’t care. I had rather sleep upon a pallet in a loft, by 
myself, than in the handsomest room in the house, with her for 
a room-mate. It frets me, though to see her airs ! I wish the 
law allowed you absolute control.” 

It wont do with her. If she suspected a design on my part 
to abridge her liberties, or defraud her of her dues, she would as 
lief enter a complaint against me as not. She has the temper 
of the Evil One ; and watch as you may, will get the bit between 
her teeth.'’ 

The carriage was at the door by six o’clock on Monday morn- 
ing. Ida was ready; but her trunk was strapped on, and her 
maid seated upon the box with the driver, before she appeared. 
The truth was, she dreaded to meet Dr. Carleton. She did not 
recollect her own father, and had no agreeable associations 
connected with any, who bore that relation to her young 
acquaintances. She was inclined to look upon the class, as a 
set of necessary discords in life; Mr. Read being the key-note. 
Carry often spoke of her surviving parent with earnest affection ; 
but Ida attributed this to a charity, that beheld no faults in 


ALO N E . 


69 


those she loved. The thought of her ride and visit would have 
been unalloyed, but for this idiosyncrasy. If he were like 
Mr. Dana!” she said, going slowly down stairs. He was in th,. 
porch, with Mr. Head and Carry. My friend Ida, father,^' 
said Carry. He was not like Mr. Dana, — better than that ! He 
was the image of Carry — her eyes, mouth and smile — his locks, 
although silvered by years, must in youth have waved in the 
same golden curls. He was handsome yet, how could he be 
otherwise ! and had she failed to love him at sight, the unaf- 
fected geniality of his salutation would have captivated her. 
She had not a care in the world, as she reclined in the carriage, 
beside Carry, the revolving wheels bearing her towards the 
country. Mr. Read and his feminine prototype were sign-posts, 
marking rough and miry roads she had travelled; they were 
troubles no more ; she was leaving them behind. 

There had been a thunder-storm in the night, and in that 
brief fit of passion, nature had wept away every unkind or un- 
pleasant emotion. The sky wore that rich, soft, transparent hue, 
which imparts its own pureness to the soul of him, who looks upon 
it ; smilingly luring it to soar away, and steep itself in the blue 
of its remembered home;'^ the forest-leaves glittered with rain- 
diamonds, and the bird-matin was warbled by a full orchestra. 
And on, through the slants of sunlight, and the alternations of 
deep, green shade ; with the old, familiar chirpings in her ear, 
and the touch of the loved one’s hand upon hers, rode the 
orphan; very quiet, through excess of happiness; afraid to 
speak or move, lest this should prove a never-to-be realized 
dream, whose awaking should bring bitter, hopeless yearnings 1 

Little by little. Carry broke up her musings ; and her father 
seconded her. He was prepared to like his daughter’s friend, 
and there was that in his eye and voice, which made Ida forget, 
as she had done with Carry, — that she was talking with a 
stranger. 

That is a fine specimen of your favorite tree, Ida,” observed 
Carry, pointing to a majestic pine, grand and solitary, at the 
entrance of a grove of oaks. 

<< And superb it is, in its loneliness 1” said Ida. 

Farmers would cavil at your taste,” remarked Dr. Carleton. 
<^<Pine barrens’ are proverbial. A thick growth of them is. an 


70 


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unmistakeable sign of poverty of soil. Nothing else can extract 
sustenance from the worn out ground.^' 

<‘That is why I like them, sir. There is sublimity in their 
hardy independence, taking root, as you say, where pampered, or 
less robust vegetation would perish, and with never-furling 
banners, stretching up boldly towards the stars.^^ 

<< They are emblems to you — of what V* asked the Doctor. 

Of the few really great ones, who have demonstrated that 
human nature is not of necessity, vile or imbecile, or yet a 
debtor to accident, for its spice of good.^' 

<<The gifted, — or the fortunate 
The resolute^ — sir. They, who have riven the shackles of 
low birth or poverty, and made for themselves a glorious name 
— out of nothing ! — have done it by the naked force of will. 
Call it < talent^ or < genius,^ if you choose ; — upon analyzation, 
you will resolve it into this one element of character.^^ 

It is a sorry task to pick flaws in your beautiful analogy,” 
said the old gentleman. You may not be aware that your 
pine, sturdy as it appears, is less fitted than any other tree, for 
standing alone ; its roots running out laterally from the trunk ; 
and lying near the surface of the earth. Cut down the* outer 
row which have kept off the tempests, and helped to support 
him, and the first hard wind is apt to lay him low.” 

“ And so there are fates, against which the mightiest of 
mortal energies are powerless. Leave the pine unprotected, and 
if it survive one blast, it strikes its roots deeper and deeper into 
the ground, until it has strength to brave an hundred winters. 
Adversity, if it does not kill — strengthens.” 

<< Do you favor the philosophy, which teaches that a certain 
amount of trouble in necessary for the complete development 
of character?” 

« Whether necessary or not — it comes. That is not a matter 
of hypothesis ; but I have seen some, who, I did not think, 
required discipline ; and many more, who wanted softening, 
instead of hardening.” 

Is hardening the legitimate effect of sorrow ?” asked he, more 
gravely. << When the chastening is guided by love, does it not 
melt and refine ? Are strength and hardness synonymous ?” 

<< I question the difference, sir, — as 'the world goes.” 


ALONE. 


73 


<< Instead of referring to < the world/ in an abstract sense- 
judge we of the influence of trials, by what we know of our 
selves. I never tasted real happiness, until I learned to bear 
grief, by submiting to the will of Providence.^^ 

And one affliction has embittered life for me !” returned Ida, 
gloomily. 

Poor child !” then recollecting himself, he addressed Carry in 
a jesting tone. <<And you — Miss Carry — what is your vote 
upon this important question 

“I have had no trouble, sir, replied she, lightly, « except 
school-quarrels. You would not class them in the category of 
tribulations.’^ 

There was sadness in her father’s look of love, as he answered, 

I hope you may long be able to say so, dear !” 

Carry brushed away the mist from her lashes. < A consum- 
mation devoutedly to be desired,’ — as Charley, or Shakspeare 
would say. Where is he, father ?” 

<< Who ? Shakspeare or Charley ?” 

« The latter, of course. Apart from his probable location 
being more easily decided upon, — he is, to me, the more interest- 
ing of the two.’ 

• He is somewhere in the Western part of the State; — - 
travelling, partly for pleasure. John told you, that they have com- 
mitted the New York branch of the business to Mr. E , 

and that Charley will in future reside in Kichmond.” 

Yes, sir. I was glad to hear it; I understood, however, that 
this change would not be made before Fall. In the interim, are 
not we to be favoured with his company ?” 

« I trust so. It will seem like old times for us all to be 
together again.’' 

I hope he will come while you are with us, Ida,” said Carry. 
« I am so anxious you should know him !” 

<^You have seen him, surely. Miss Ida?” said Dr. Carleton. 

« I have not yet had that pleasure, sir.” 

« He is an original worth studying.” 

I can credit that. Elle’s panegyrics would have created a 
desire to see his nonpareil of an ^ Uncle Charley,’ and Carry has 
raised my curiosity to the highest pitch, by naming him as the 
successful rival of Shakspeare.” 


72 


ALONE. 


Oh cried Carry, laughing. I said more interesting to 
me. Charley is one of my pets; and I am afraid I have 
presented you with an erroneously flattered picture of him. You 
must not look for an ^ Admirable Crichton.^ he is not one to 
please the fancy on a slight acquaintance.^^ 

Is he as handsome as his brother T’ 

Which brother inquired the Doctor; and Carry blushed. 

I have met but one/^ said Ida. << I consider Mr. John 
Dana very fine-looking.’^ 

I will repeat Charley’s ideas of what he styles, his < personal 
pulchritude,’ ” responded Carry. He says he thanks Heaven 
he is not handsome. To endow him with a moderate share of 
beauty, some one would have been deprived of his, or her good 
looks. No broken hearts are laid at the door of his conscience.” 
< Yes’ — concluded he, triumphantly — < A man ought to be grate- 
ful for ugliness ; and I am persuaded that not many have as much 
cause to rejoice on that score as myself!’ ” 

(( He is not homely,” said her father, warmly. 

Ah father I other people tell a different story.” 

That may be ; but where you find one handsomer face than 
his, you see a" thousand destitute of its intelligence and agreeable- 
ness.” 

Granted. Homely or not, I prefer him to any doll-faced 
dandy of my acquaintance.” 

He is fortunate in his advocates,” said Ida. << He has the 
art of making friends.” 

« Because he is such a firm friend himself,” replied Carry. 

Yet some will have it that he is frivolous and unfeeling. The 
only satirical remark I was ever guily of, was extorted by an asper- 
sion of this kind. A lady was offended by a playful bagatelle 
of his ; and thinking that I would be a sure medium of com- 
municating her wrath to its object, criticised him unsparingly. 
She ridiculed his person and manners said nothing. She 
said he was bankrupt in chivalry and politeness. . I smiled; and 
she blazed out a philippic against his ‘disgusting levity and 
nonsense — he had not a spark of feeling, or grain of sense — 
intelligent indeed I for her part she had never heard him say a 
smart or sensible thing yet.’ — ^I put in my oar here — ‘You will 
then allow- him one talent, at least; the ability to adapt his 


ALONE. 73 

conversation to the company he is in/ I repented having said 
it ; hut it quieted her/' 

You did not reproach yourself for taking the part of your 
friend I" 

<^No, out I might have done it in a less objectionable manner. 
It did not alter her feelings to him, and caused her to dislike 
me." 

How is it, sir, that I hear so much more of this one of your 
former wards, than of his younger brother ?" said Ida to the 
Doctor. 

The question was innocently propounded, and for an instant, 
she was puzzled by the quizzical demureness, with which he 
glanced at his daughter. 

This is a serious charge. Carry. Your predilection for one 
old play-fellow should not make you forgetful of another." 

She was looking down, touching the shining tire of the wheel 
with the tip of her gloved finger. The truth beamed upon Ida; 
and with it a thousand little circumstances she had been blindly 
stupid not to understand before. Her intelligent eye said the 
mystery was explained, but she forbore to say so in words. Dr. 
Carleton went on in a changed tone. 

<< Arthur is not a whit behind his brothers in sterling worth, 
or personal graces. He is associated with me in the practice of 
medicine, and unites a skill and prudence, rarely found in one so 
young. He is popular, and deservedly so." 

Carry bestowed a grateful smile upon him, and was answered 
in the same mute language. In such desultory chat, the sunny 
hours ran out. They travelled well ; only stopping an hour to 
dine and rest ; yet twilight saw them eight miles from their des- 
tination. Each was disposed to silence, as the light grew dim- 
mer; and when the moon smiled at them above the tree-tops, 
she elicited but a single observation of her beauty. The road 
was lonely and sheltered; bordered by forests on one side, and 
thicket-grown banks on the other ; the soil sandy and heavy ; 
the tramp of hoofs scarcely heard, and the wheels rolling with a 
low, crushing sound, that, to Ida^ was not unmusical. Silver 
willows, and twisting 5 bamboo ' vines, and the long-leaved 
Typha Latifolia edged the road; and she watched through the 
openings in the woven screen, for a glimpse of the stream that 

7 


74 


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watered their roots; sometimes deceived by the shimmer of the 
moon upon the leaves; sometimes, by the white sands, until she 
doubted whether there was indeed one there ; — when the gurgling 
of falling waters betrayed the modest brooklet, and it widened 
into a pretty pool; the moon’s silver shield upon its bosom. 
The thicket became taller, and. not so dense; tulip trees and oaks 
in place of the aquatic undergrowth ; and between, them the 
fleeting glimmerings of the sky were, to her, an army of pale 
spectres, marching noiselessly past ; no halting or wavering ; on, 
on, in unbroken cavalcade, down to the dead.” And memory, 
at fancy’s call, produced the long roll of those who had gone to 
the world of shades; — the master-spirits of all ages;-^the 
oppressed and the oppressor ; — the lovely and the loved ; — had 
joined that phantom procession ; — how few leaving even the 
legacy of a name to earth ! With the Persian Poet, her heart 
cried out — Where are they ?” and echo answered — Where 
are they ?” And thought poured on thought, under the weird 
inflence of that enchanted night, until the shadowy host was the 
one reality in the landscape ; and one and another beckoned and 
waved to her, as they defiled by. She came near shrieking — so 
startled was she — as a horseman reined up at the window. The 
moon was at his back ; but showed every lineament of her coun- 
tenance. He raised his hat. Miss Ross, I believe. I fear my 
sudden appearance has alarmed you.” 

<< Arthur! my boy 1 how are you?” exclaimed Dr. Carleton, 
extending his hand, which was as eagerly seized. << Miss Ross — 
Dr. Dana. 

<< Miss Ross will excuse me for having anticipated the intro- 
duction,” said he, bowing again, and rode to the opposite side of 
the carriage. The greetings there were more quiet; but it 
needed not Ida’s delicate ear to detect the feeling in the voices 
which tried to say common-place things. Arthur had much to 
say to the doctor, and once in a while a remark for her — Carry 
remaining in the back-grotfnd. 

^<Were you uneasy that we did not arrive?” asked Dr. 
Carleton. 

«^Not uneasy — but restless; and to relieve my impatience 
rode out to meet you.” 

He was first on this side — now on that — as the highway 


ALONE. 


75 


afforded him room ; but Ida could not get a view of his face 
His figure was good, and he sat his horse well ; — upon these 
facts, and such impressions as were made by a pleasant voice and 
gentlemanly address,' she was obliged to form her opinion of his 
personal appearance, until more light should be shed upon the 
subject. The house appeared, approached by a shady lane, and 
so embowered in trees, that only the chimneys were visible from 
the main road. Carry^s tongue was unloosed as she bounded 
into the midst of the sable throng that swarmed about the car- 
riage. Arthur exclaimed merrily at the clamor of blessings and 
inquiries. 

Will you accept me as your attendant. Miss Koss ? The 
ceremony of reception will last some time ” 

But Carry was in the piazza as soon as they were. 

« Thank you, Arthur, for taking charge of her. Welcome to 
Poplar-grove, dear Ida I May you be as happy here as I have 
been 

Amen said Dr. Carleton and Arthur, heartily. 

Carry acted like a wild creature all the evening. She half- 
carried Ida to her chamber, and kissed her over and over. 

« Now, darling she ran on, strewing their shawls and bon- 
nets in all directions. << You see I have no idea of putting you 
off, company style, in angther room. You will be with me morn- 
ing, noon, and night. My dear, dear room ! how natural it looks ! 
and to think I am never to leave it again 

« Bless your heart I” said a middle-aged mulatto woman, whose 
mild and pleasing face struck Ida as much as her motherly kind- 
ness to her young mistress, You are not half so glad to get back 
as we are to have you here.^^ 

« Hush, Mammy ! you will make me cry. Comb my hair — 
will you ? Not that I do not believe you could do it, Sally ; but 
it used to be Mammy^s work.^^ 

<< Thoughtful of others still,'^ reflected Ida, as the girl Sally 
displayed a double row of ivories, at Carry’s apology. Can 
nothing make her selfish 

We wont’t waste time by an elaborate toilet, dear,” said 
Carry, seeing Ida deliberating upon two dresses. Father will 
be too much engaged with his supper to notice our dress. Wear 
the plain white one ; it is very becoming ; and remember, you 
are in the back-woods.” 


ALONE. 


76 

Arthur was in the parlor when they descended. He looked 
as happy as* Carry, and almost as good,^' thought Ida. She 
was not de irop; it might have been a brother and sister who 
strove to convince her that this, their home, was hers for the 
time-being. The supper-table was set with taste and profusion. 
Ida wondered whether the menage were entirely controlled by 
coloured servants. She learned afterwards that << Mammy 
trained by Mrs. Carleton, and until that lady’s death, her con- 
stant attendant, was housekeeper. 

You have not much affection for a city life. Miss Ida,” said 
Arthur, continuing a conversation commenced in the parlor. 

<< No. I am country-bred, and cherish a preference for the 
scenes of my childhood. Perhaps,” she said, ingeniously, the 
* fault is in myself. I did not want to live in Pichmond, and 
determined not to like it.” 

And are your aversions so strong that the manifold attrac- 
tions of the metropolis cannot shake them ? or, are you countrified 
upon principle 

I have not given the city a fair trial. It has occurred to 
me lately that my weariness of it proceeded from monotony 
rather than satiety. There is little variety in school life.” 

Except when we regard it as the world in miniature,” said 
Arthur. It is different, doubtless, in ^ Young Lady Establish- 
ments,’ but we boys contrived to maintain a healthy circulation, 
one way or another.” 

Is it not a popular fallacy that school-days are the happiest 
of one’s life ?” asked Ida. 

Unquestionably,” rejoined he, promply. << As well say that 
Spring is the farmer’s happiest season. He has the pleasures 
of hope, the delight of viewing his whitening harvests into 
futuro; but there is severe, unromantic drudgery 5 suspense and 
boding fears for the result. The ^ harvest home’ for me 1 

And when is that !” questioned Ida. 

Now !” said he, with emphasis. 

What do you mean ?” inquired Carry. 

That you and Miss Ida begin to reap from this date. To 
dispense with this inconvenient metaphor, your actions will be 
the pfoof of what your lessons have been ) every day your 
knowledge and principles will be brought into play, — ^you will 
be binding up sheaves of worthy or of evil deeds.” 


ALONE. 77 

<< You are trying to terrify ns,” said Carry. « Don’t you wish 
yourself at school again, Ida 

<< Are ^ou sorry you’re a-goiu’ to turn out replied Ida, in a 
peculiar tone. 

Oh, Celestia !” exclaimed Carry, with a burst of laughter. 

Who ? what said her father. 

One of our school-mates, father j who, hearing another say 
that she was sorry to quit school, went through the house the 
day we were dismissed, asking each one confidentlaliy, < Are you 
sorry you’re a-gofn to turn out ?’ grief at such an event being, 
in her code, a more heinous sin than to dance at a funeral.” 

<< Who was she ?” asked Arthur. 

<< Miss Pratt — Celestia Pratt.” 

Daughter of the member from A ?” 

The same — what do you know of her ?” 

“ I met her once at a ball,” he replied. 

« Were you introduced ?” cried both girls in a breath. 

<< Yes ; and danced with her.” 

<< Enough ?” said Carry. << We will not pursue the subject.” 

As you please,” he returned ; but if I am not mistaken, as 
Sir Roger says, though with a different meaning, < much could 
be said on both sides.’ ” 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Poplar-grove was comparatively a modern place; having 
been built by the present proprietor at the time of his marriage. 
The house was of brick, large and commodious ; and flanked by 
neat out-houses and servants’ quarters, presenting an imposing 
appearance, an air of lordly beauty. The shade trees were 
forest-born ; the maple, oak, beech, and fairest of all, the tulip- 
poplar. Excepting in the green-house, on the south side of the 
mansion, and a rose-creeper that climbed upon the piazza, not a 
flower was tolerated within the spacious yard, and the sward was 
always green and smooth. Dr. Carle ton’s seat was the pride and 
envy of the country. “No wonder,” growled the croakers ; “ a 

7* 


78 


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man with a plenty of money can afford to be comfortable/^ They 
lived in barn-like structures, treeless and yardless; (and who that 
has travelled in our commonwealth, but knows the heart-sicken- 
ing aspect of these out-of-door habitations?) raising vegetables, 
because they must be had to eat ; planting orchards, and suffer- 
ing them to dwindle and pine, for want of attention ; and exist- 
ing themselves after the same shambling style, because they 
<^had it to do;^^ content to ^^get along,^^ and not feeling the 
need of anything higher, until the buried — not dead — sense of 
the beautiful was exhumed by the sight of the' work of taste and 
industry; and the stupid stare was succeeded by jealous repin- 
ings, and the writing down of a long score against Providence. 

I tell you what, my friend,^^ the doctor said to one of these 
murmurers, instead of harping so much upon one P, try my 
three, and my word for it, your wishes will be fulfilled sooner 
by fifty years— they are. Planting, Perseverance and Paint.^^ 

In the garden, beauty and utility joined hands, and danced 
together down the walks. There were squares of thrifty vegeta- 
bles, deserving a home in the visioned Eden of an ambitious 
horticulturist ; and the banished floral treasures here expanded 
in every variety of hue and fragrance. There grew hedges of 
roses, and the dwarf lilac, and the jessamine family, the star, 
the Catalonian, the white , and yellow, thatching one- arbor; 
while the odorous Florida, the coral, and the more common but 
dearer garden honeysuckles wreathed their lithe tendrils over 
another; and ever-blowing wall-flowers, humble and sweet, gaudy 
beds of carnations, and brightly-smiling coreopsis, and pure lilies 
with their fragrant hearts powdered with golden dust— a witch- 
ing wilderness of delights. Trellises, burdened with ripening 
grapes, were the boundary line between the garden and the 
orchard. The same just sense of order and well-being regulated 
the whole plantation. Kindness was the main-spring of the 
machinery, but it was a kindness that knew how to punish as 
well as reward. 

Do you believe in the unity of the human race?’^ asked Ida, 
one evening, as she and Carry were taking their twilight prome- 
nade in the long parlor. 

Assuredly; but what put that ihto your head just now?’^ 

I was thinking of your father ; and trying to realize that he 


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79 


belongs to the same species with others I could name. I am 
compelled to the conclusion that he is an appendix, a later crea- 
tion, a type of what man would have been had he not < sought 
out many inventions.^ 

“ And what new instance of his immaculateness has induced 
this sapient belief 

I was sitting at the window this afternoon, before he went 
out, when I heard him call to little Dick to bring his saddle- 
bags from <the office.' The boy scampered off, and presently 
appeared running, still holding the precious load with great care 
in both hands. ‘ Steady, my lad,' said your father, and as the 
warning passed his lips, Dick tripped his foot, and came down — 
the saddle-bags under him. He cried loudly, and your father 
ran to pick him up — what do you suppose he said ?" 

Inquired if he was hurt, of course." 

He did — but reflect ! every phial was smashed, and that is 
no trifle this far from the city, I take it. Yes — he set the little 
chap upon his feet, and asked after the integrity of his bones 3 
and when he sobbed, ^ 1 aint hurt, sir — but de bottles — dey's 
all broke !' patted him upon the head, and bade him < stop crying 
— master isn’t angry — you won't run so fast next time,' and let 
him go. Then, kneeling upon the grass, he unlocked the 
portable apothecary-shop, and pulled out gallipots and packages, 
fractured and stained in every imaginable shape and manner — 
looking seriously perplexed. < This is an awkward business,' 
he said, aloud 3 < and my stock is so nearly out ! but accidents 
will happen.' " 

<< And is that all ?" said Carry. 

< All !' I have seen men affect forbearance, and talk largely 
of forgiveness, when they wanted to ^ show off,' but he did not 
know that I was within hearing. Some other principle was at 
work. I wonder," she said, with a short laugh, <^what my 
esteemed guardian would have said upon the occasion ! He 
punishes a menial more severely for an accident, or thoughtless- 
ness, than for deliberate villany." 

I do not pretend to uphold Mr. Read's doctrines or practice. 
I am afraid he is thoroughly selfish, and Josephine is too close 
a copy of him to suit my fancy — but why think or speak of 
them ? Did you not promise to see life through my spectacles 


80 


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awhile ? There is a hard look in your eye, and a scorn in your 
tone, when you refer to them, that repel me. It is so unlike 
you 

So like me. Carry !• My character is velvet or fur — strode it 
in one direction, and you enhance whatever of beauty or gloss it 
possesses ; reverse the motion, and you encounter rough prickles, 
and in certain states of the atmosphere, more electricity than is 
agreeable or safe. I am not changed. The hand of affection is 
gliding over me now ; you may do what you will with me.^' 

But you are happier than you used to be 
I am — happier in you I Do you recollect the stormy 
November evening when you ^ took me in V Cold, and wet, 
and shivering as was the body, the heart stood more in need of 
comfort ; and you warmed it — taught me that woman is woman 
still — brow-beaten, insulted, crushed ! The poor, soiled flowerets 
of love will smile, despite of all — in the face of him, or her 
whose pitying hand lifts them up. Carry ! you do not know 
what depends upon your fidelity ! Have you not read in that 
most wondrous of books,, how the evil spirit returned to the 
house, which, in his absence, was swept and garnished, and that 
the latter end of that man was worse than the first 

<^Ida! my own friend I how can you hint such frightful 
things ? 1 do love you-— very dearly ? You cannot doubt me.’' 

“Not now. But will the time never come, when other claims 
will dispossess me of my place ? Do not despise me, darling ! 
Do not impute to me the meanness of being envious of your 
happiness. I rejoice with, and am proud for you — proud of your 
choice. He is all that a man should be — let me say it — I have 
never told you so before; — but is it true love expels friendship? 
You will be as dear to me married as single; why should your 
affection decrease ?" 

“ It will not !" Could it be the modest Carry who spoke ? 
“Judge for yourself. Arthur and I have loved from childhood. 
He spoke to me of his hopes two years ago, but father exacted 
from us a promise that no love but that of brother and sister 
should be named between us until my school-days were at an 
end. Yet I knew that I was not a sister to him ; and, to me, 
he was more than the world besides : — and’ with this sweet con- 
sciousness singing its song of hope and blessedness within my 


ALONE. 


81 


heart, I found room for you ; and lover and friend were each 
the dearer for' the other’s company. You will understand this, 
some day, dear Ida. You are made to be loved — you cannot 
exist without it, and you will achieve your destiny.” 

That love is to be my redemption. Carry In the upper 
region of the air there is eternal calm and sunshine, while the 
clouds brood and crash below. Such calm and light shall my 
love win for me. I have dwelt for years in the black, noisome 
vapors — I am rising now ! Is it not Jean Paul who says — 
^ Love may slumber in a young maiden’s heart, but he always 
dreams !’ I have had dreams— day visions, more transporting 
than any the night bestows. I have dreamed that my wayward 
will bent, in glad humility, to a stronger and wiser mind 3 — 
that my eye fell beneath the fondness of one that quailed at 
nothing; that I leaned my tired head upon a bosom, whose every 
throb was to me an earnest of his abiding truth 3 and drank in 
the music of a voice, whose sweetest accent was the low whisper 
that called me ^ his own !’ These are not chance vagaries 3 they 
have been the food of my heart for long and dreary months 3 
angel-voices about my pillow — my companions in the still twi- 
light hour — summoned by pleasure or pain, to sympathise and 
console. Then my breast is a temple, consecrated to an ideal, 
but none the less fervent in the devotion offered therein 3 the 
hoarded riches of a lifetime are heaped upon his shrine. I have 
imagined him high in the world’s opinion 3 doing his part nobly 
in the strife of life; — and I, unawed by the laurel-crown — 
unheeding it — say, < Love me — only love me I’ I love to fancy, 
and feel him present, and sing to him the strains which gush 
from my soul at his coming. This is one.” 

She left Carry’s side.^ A lightly-played prelude floated through 
the darkening room, then a recitative, of which the words and 
music seemed alike born out of the impulse of the hour : 


Thy heart is like the ‘billowy tide 
Of some impetuous river, 

That mighty in its power and pride, 
Sweeps on and on forever. 

The white foam is its batt.e crest. 

As to the charge it rushes 
And from its vast and panting breast, 
A stormy shout up gushes. 


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“ Through all — o’er all — my way I cleave — 

Each barrier down-bearing — 

Fame is the guerdon of the brave, 

And victory of the daring !” 

While mine is like the brooklet’s flow, 

Through peaceful valley’s gliding ; 

O’er which the willow boughs bend low 
The tiny wavelet hiding. 

And as it steals on, calm and clear, 

A little song ’tis singing, 

That vibrates soft upon the ear. 

Like fairy vespers ringing. 

Love me — love me !” it murmurs o’er, 

’Midst light and shadows ranging. 

Love me,” it gurgles evermore. 

The burden never changing. 

Thine is the eagle’s lofty'flight. 

With ardent hope, aspiring 
E’en to the flaming source of light. 

Undoubting and untiring. 

Glory, with gorgeous sunbeam, throws 
An Iris mantle o’er thee — 

A radiant present round thee glows — 

Deathless renown before thee. 

And I, like a shy, timid dove. 

That shuns noon’s fervid beaming, 

And far within the silent grove. 

Sits, lost in loving dreaming — 

Turn, half in joy, and half in fear, 

From thine ambitious soaring. 

And seek to hide fne from the glare. 

That o’er thy track is pouring. 

I cannot echo back the notes 
Of triumph thou art pealing. 

But from my woman’s heart there floats 
The music of one feeling. 

One single, longing, pleading moan. 

Whose voice I cannot smother — 

*‘Love me — love me!” its song alone. 

And it will learn no other ! 

There was a long stillness. Carry was weeping silently. She 
was a novice to the world, and believed that many were guileless 
and loving as herself ; but she felt, as she listened to this enthu- 
siastic outflow from ice-girt depths, unfathomable to her, unsus- 
pected by others, that terrible woe was in reserve for the heart 
so suddenly unveiled. There was, about Ida, when her real 
character came into action, an earnestness of passion and senti- 
ment that forbade the utterance of trite counsels or cautions; 


ALO N E. 


83 


the tide would have its way, and one must abide its ehb in 
patience. Her first words showed that it had retired. 

<< I appear strangely fitful to your gentle little self, dear one. 
It is seldom that 1 yield to these humours. You have pierced 
to the bottom of my heart to-night linking her arm again in 
Carry’s. « Forget my vehemence, and believe me if you will, 
the iceberg people say I am.” 

<< Never! oh, Ida! Why do yourself such injustice? Why 
not let your friends know that you have feeling ? They would 
love you but the more.” 

Do not believe it. I should be sent to the Insane Hospital. 
Hearts are at a discount in the market just now, and hypocrisy 
above par.” 

There you go !” exclaimed Carry. One moment all soft- 
ness — the next, an ocean is between us. Contradictory enigma ! 
If I loved you less, I should be angry. You read every leaf of 
my heart as easily as you unfold a newspaper; and just as I 
fancy that I have the key to yours, it is shut close — a casket, 
whose spring I cannot find.” 

(( Or like an oyster,” said Ida. « Apropo de bottes — here 
come the candles, harbingers of supper, and I hear our brace of 
Esculapii, upon the porch, ready to discuss it.” 

Carry asked herself if it could be the impassioned improvisa- 
trice, who charmed her father and Arthur into forgetfulness of 
professional anxieties, and the attractions of the inviting board, 
by her brilliant play of wit, sparkling and pleasant as foam upon 
champagne, without its evanescence. The gentlemen admired 
and liked her. That they unconsciously identified her with 
Carry, may have accounted for this, in part, but most was owing 
to her powers of pleasing. An inquiry, made with extreme 
gravity, as to the number and welfare of their patients, was the 
preface to a burlesque sketch of the saddle-bag scene; in which, 
not a hint of the reflections it inspired, escaped her; and when 
she described the doctor’s rueful countenance, as he held up the 
neck and stopple of a large phial, saying dolefully, << The Calo- 
mel too, and three cases of fever on hand !’ Arthur resigned 
knife and fork, in despair of eating another mouthful, and Dr. 
Carleton drew out his Bandanna to wipe off the coursing tears. 

« Hist,” said Ida, her finger uplifted, some one is coming !” 


84 


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The roll of an approaching vehicle was plainly heard ; the coach- 
man’s sharp Whoa !” followed by a cheer, in sound like a view- 
hallo, but it said, Ship ahoy I” 

Charley ! Charley !” screamed Carry, upsetting the tea-urn 
on her way to the door, pursued by Arthur and Dr. Carleton. 
Ida went as far as the porch. She heard Mrs. John Dana’s 
voice, then her husband’s; and Elle’s incoherent response to the 
efforts made to awaken her; but the stranger was chief spokes- 
man. « Look after your wife and the baggage, John ; I will 
disembark the lighter freight. Elle ! Elle ! don’t you want to 
see Aladdin’s lamp ? Aha ! well, here is something prettier — 
Aunt Carry, and a nice supper. Charley ! you monkey ! wide 
awake as usual! Feel if you have- your own head, my boy ! 
People are apt to make mistakes in the dark. Grive me that 
small-sized bundle, Jenny — you’ll lose it in the weeds, and then 
there will be the mischief to pay. One, two, three, all right !” 
And with the small-sized bundle” in his arms, he marched up 
the walk, Carry scolding and laughing. 

Charley 1 you are too bad ! give her to me — a pretty figure 
you are, playing nurse 1” 

• He has carried her, or Elle, before him, on the horse, all 
the way !” said Mrs. Dana. Ida, my love, how do you do ?’* 
warmly kissing her.” John Dana shook hands with her, and 
Elle cried, Cousin Ida 1 ^ou here at grandpa’s 1” 

Charley gave a comic glance at his burden, when he was pre- 
sented ; but his bow was respectful, and as graceful as the case 
admitted. Ida hardly saw him until the second supper was 
served ; Carry insisting that she should occupy her accustomed 
seat, and go through the form of eating. Elle petitioned for a 
chair by her, and the three brothers were together on the opposite 
side of the table. They were an interesting study. John, 
with his strong, dark, yet singularly pleasing physiognomy, was 
the handsomest ; but his precedence in age, and perhaps rougher 
experiences in life, had imparted an air of command, which, while 
it became him well, deterred one from familiarity. Charley was 
so unlike him, that the supposition of their being of the same 
lineage, seemed absurd, tiis hair and complexion were many 
shades lighter, and the features cast in a diiBferent mould, his 
eyes the only fine ones in the set. He was not so tall, by half a 


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85 


head, and more slightly built. Arthur was the connecting link ; 
with John’s height, and Charley’s figure ; the perfect mouth and 
teeth of one ; the brown eyes of the other ; and hair and skin a 
juste milieu between the two. Ida’s attention was most frequently 
directed to the new-comer. She thought him more homely than 
his brothers ; and it certainly was not a family resemblance that 
troubled her with the notion, that she had seen him somewhere 
not very long ago — when, she could not say — except that his 
expression was not the same as now. Heedless of her observa- 
tion, he rattled on ; doing ample justice to the edibles, in some 
unaccountable manner ] his gastronomical and vocal apparatus 
never interfering ; yet withal, he was an excellent listener ; and 
allowed the rest of the party to say w-hatever they wished. He 
would be worth his weight in gold to a comic almanac-maker,” 
thought Ida, as he dashed off caricature and anecdote, conveying 
a character in an epithet, and setting the table in a roar, by a 
grimace or inflection. His pictures, however, were coloured by 
his gay mood ) there were no frowning portraits, and their smiles 
were all broad grins. 

You have not learned to love buttermilk, yet, Charley ?” 
said Carry, as John called for a second tumbler of the cooling 
beverage. 

Can’t say that I have. Hid I write you an account of my 
begging expedition ?” 

<< Begging ! no — tell me now.” 

It was in the Valley. Fitzgerald and I — you know Fitz., 
Arthur — were on a hunting frolic. We went up on the moun- 
tains, and fell in with game in abundance, but despicable 
accommodations. We were at it for three days. The first 
night we ^ camped out,’ gipsy style ; built a rousing fire to scare 
’ the wild beasts; wrapped our dreadnoughts around us, and ‘ lay, 
likp gentlemen taking a snooze,’ feet towards the fire, and faces 
towards the moon. I had made up my mind that there would 
be precious little romance, and less comfort, in this very roomy 
hotel ; but Fitz. was sentimentally inclined, and I let him alone. 
< A life in the woods for me ’’ said he, as he stretched himself 
upon the ground. I was fast asleep in two minutes, so. far as 
sounds went. < Charley !’ he exclaimed, at my heavy breathing. 

8 


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ALONE. 


< Pshaw ! he’s off ! he has no more poetry m him than there is 
in a — ^rock !’ 

I guessed that he was helped to this illustration, by his dis- 
covery of the quantity of the substance in the soil thereabouts, 
for* he shifted his position. He was tolerably still for about five 
minutes; then there was a jerk, and <I have not picked the 
softest spot, surely!’ After another season of quiet came, 

< How he sleeps If he were to swap sides with me, he would 
not be disturbing the echoes in that style I’ 

« A brief objurgation to an unnamed annoyance, was comment 
fourth. I slept on perseveringly. He bore it for an hour, and 
then got up and mended the fire, by which he was moodily 
seated, when I awoke from* my first nap. ^ Hallo !’ said I, rub- 
bing my eyes, < Is it morning ?’ < No ! and what’s more, I don’t 

believe it’s ever coming ?’ with a savage accent. < Ah well 1 just 
hail me when it does break,’ and I dropped back < That is more 
than flesh and blood can bear !’ said he, with awful deliberate- 
ness, ^ Here I can’t get a wink of sleep, and you are snoring 
away with a forty horse power. Maybe you think you are on a 
feather bed, man !’ fiercely ironical. 

A feather bed 1’ just opening my eyes — ^ a feather bed is 
nothing to it, Fitz.’ 

<< < I believe you !’ he said. 

<< The morning did come, and we had splendid shooting, and 
happened on a log cabin that night, where we were permitted to 
lodge, leaving most of our game for its mistress, who . refused 
money for her hospitality. By three o’clock of the last day, we 
turned our faces towards home, and by rare luck, overtook a man 
who lived upon Fitz.’s farm, him we loaded with our guns and 
game-bags, he being on horseback, and fresh, we on foot and 
tired. Presently a traveller passed us, crossing to the other 
side of the road, and eyeing us suspiciously. < Fitz.,’ observed I, 

< How hard that man looked at you. You are not exactly in 
holiday trim, my dear fellow !’ 

I haven’t seen any man, or thought of myself, I was too 
much absorbed in conjecturing how such an ugly creature, as you, 
was ever raised — ^you couldn’t have been, except in Eastern 
Virginia.’ 

After some sparring, we laid a bet as to how the people of 


ALONE. 


8T 


C 

' the first house we came to, would decide the question of our com- 
parative beauty. have it !’ said he, ^ We are foreigners; talk 
the most villainous jargon you can invent, and trust me for the 
rest. We shall hear criticisms enough. Til warrant.' 

« We were ripe for fun; and reaching a small farm-house, Fitz. 
opened the gate. < Recollect we know no Inglese !' We were 
grotesque figures, wearing bell- crowned hats of white felt, drab 
wrappers, coated with mud, and green-hunting shirts. Add a 
beard of three days' growth, and brigandish mustachios, and you 
have our < picters.' The men were off at work, but the women 
peeped at us from all quarters. Fitz. walked meekly up to a 
girl who was washing in the yard. 

^ Avezyouvuspaimum 

<< i What !' said she, wringing the suds from her hands. 

< Wevusivusfaimetsoifj winking at me for confirmation. 

<< < Yaw ! pax vobiscum !' returned I, in imitation of poor 
Wamba; and pointing into my throat. 

^ Two forrinners,' said an older woman. < Come, see 'em, 
chillen.' 

« ^ You are hungry, ain't you V said the girl. 
i Novuscomprendum. 
i And thirsty, too V to me. 

« I put my finger to my mouth, with a voracious snap. Away 
she ran, and was back in a minute, with a plate of cold Irish 
potatoes and a bowl of buttermilk ; a younger sister following 
with another." 

« What did you do ?" 

<< I drank it ! absolutely ! I, who had never looked at a churn 
without shuddering. I desired to make a favorable impression. 
The children were gaping at the sights ; and I contrived, before 
handing the bowl to one of them, to drop a piece of money into 
the milk left in the bottom ^ for manners.' I wished it back in 
my pocket, as the old hag, after a prolonged stare, pointed her 
skinny hand at me, ^ 8ary^ 1 think this ’ere one is rayther the 
wuss looking^ don’t you ?’ 

Fitz. burst into a laugh, that scared them all in one direc- 
tion, while we beat a retreat in the other." y 

<< A hearty laugh helpeth digestion," said Dr. Carleton, setting 
back in his chair. Miss Ida, if you and Charley will under- 


88 


ALONE. 


take my practice, I am in hopes that the casualty of the after 
noon will be less disastrous than we apprehend/' 

<< What casualty asked Charley. 

The doctor explained. 

<< And you seize upon a prime lot of choice spirits, as a sub- 
stitute for your tinctures and drugs. Fie, Doctor ! I thought 
you were a temperance man V’ 

I have the best right to your services," said Carry, clasping 
her hands around his arm, and walking with him towards the 
parlor. And I forwarn you, I haye enough for you to do. 
Ida and I have moped here for a fortnight, without a single 
frolic, and with an alarmingly scanty supply of beaux." 

He looked down at her, as he would have done at Elle. 

You ride, do you not?" 

<< There is a pleasant fiction that we have morning excursions, 
daily; but history records but three such felicitous events." 

<< Where was Arthur ?" 

<< Hush, my dear sir, the country is sickly; and " she 

said, soito voce, He will not hear of father’s going out after 
night-fall; and they have had several difl&cult cases, of late, 
demanding almost constant attendance." 

Then, if you are willing, I will enter upon my duties as 
escort, to-morrow’ morning." 

Oh ! not so soon ! you may have time to recover from your 
fatigue." 

Fatigue ! fudge ! I could dance all night. Are you fond of 
riding, Miss Ross ?" 

I used to like it; I am sadly out of practice now." 

A fault easily cured, if you are not timid." 

Not she !" said Carry; <^and want of practice notwithstand- 
ing, she is a better horsewoman than I." 

This was demonstrated in the course of the first ride ; and , 
both improved rapidly under the tuition of their self-constituted 
instructor. 

John returned to the city; Arthur’s time was never at his 
own disposal ; the ca;re of the girls devolved entirely upon Char- 
ley. From the moment of his arrival, Ida studied him intently, 
and each hour brought difficulties, instead of elucidation. Easy 
and kind, always at their service; and performing the tasks 


ALONE. 


89 


assigned him, as if they were real pleasures, he was nothing of 
a ladies^ man eschewed gallant speeches, and consigned flat- 
terers to the tender mercies of Mrs. Opie. She felt that he was 
affectionate, but would have been at a loss to produce proof 
thereof. He never let fall a syllable of endearment, yet Carry 
and the children read something iu his face which said more. 
His tastes were cultivated, and his mind well-informed, but he 
set at naught the laws of conversational etiquette ; his sayings 
had as marked a style as his features ; a style, which those who 
did not know better, termed droll ” and those who did, dubbed 
Charley’s it was referable to no thing or person else. His 
candor was not his least remarkable trait. He was obstinately 
silent when appealed to for an opinion, or gave it rough-hewn ; 
no rounding-off of sharp corners ; no filling out here, or sloping 
in there, so as to fit neatly to another’s. He made no distinc- 
tions of rank ; pulled off his hat to the meanest field-hand, with 
as gentle courtesy as though he had been the President; and 
severed the thread of her most sprightly narrations, to thank 
the ragged urchin, who unfastened gates, or let down drawbars, 
in their desultory excursions. 

<< He is one of the best of men,’^ delivered Mammy, as fore- 
man of the kitchen jury. Ida smiled at the harum-scarum 
figure, which arose in her mind, in opposition to the image of 
sanctity. Mammy’s description should have summoned. 

You do not do him justice, Ida,” observed Carry. 

My smile was not of unbelief, but amusement ; I like him. 
There is a rich vein of quaint humor in his mind ; and his uneb- 
bing spirits entitle him to the honors of the laughing philosopher.” 

He is more than that — ** 

<< Who was it I heard wishing for a frolic ?” asked Charley, 
coming in. I met a boy with a basket full of perfumery and 
white satin ribbon, at the gate. I had to stand between him 
and the wind, while he gave me these. < Miss Carleton’ — ( Miss 
Ross ’ — ‘ Dr. Dana and brother , they would swindle a fellow out 
of his birth-right ! < Mr. and Mrs. Truman solicit the pleasure 

’ hum — ^no doubt they will be overjoyed — < evening, 27 th 
August’ — what is it. Carry ?” 

We were talking of it this morning, the bridal party given 
to William Truman and lady.” 

8 * 


90 


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<< Whom did he marry 

‘‘He isn’t married at all; on the 26 th, he is to conduct to the 
hymeneal altar, the beautiful Miss Sophia Morris, of Richmond, 
Virginia.” 

“ No newspaper reporter could be more explicit. You will go?’' 

“ That depends upon Miss Ross’ inclinations, and somebody’s 
gallantry.” 

“ Poor dependence — that last ! Ho you know the bride elect 
— that is to be ?” 

“ The bride elect, that is — is sister to a school-mate of ours ; 
and I have some acquaintance with herself.” 

“Ellen will be with her sister,” said Ida. “I shall enjoy 
meeting her. Her laugh will carry us back to days of yore.” 

“ To days of yore,” said Charley, balanceing to an imaginary 
partner. “Is it three or four weeks since you parted ? In a 
young lady’s calendar, month is an age ; six months eternity. 
You look upon me as a miracle of longevity, do you not ?” 

“ As old enough to be less saucy,” said Carry. “ Do you 
know that this habit of catching up one’s words is very rude ?” 

He threw a quick glance to Ida. “ Miss Ross is not offended, 
I trust. Nothing was further from my intention than to wound 
OP offend. I am too prone to speak without thought. Forgive 
me this time.” 

“ Upon two conditions.” 

“ Name them.” 

“ First, that you never again imagine an apology due, when 
no offence has been committed; secondly, that you drop that 
very punctilious ‘ Miss Ross,’ and adopt your brother’s manner 
of address.” 

“ Agreed ! to both. If I presume upon my privileges, I rely 
upon you for admonition.” 

“And this party?” said Carry. “Sit down and be a good 
boy, while Ida and I talk it over.” 

He brought up a stool in front of their sofa, and, knees at a 
right angle, feet close together; and folded hands, waited humbly 
for the crumbs that might be flung to him. 

“It is eight miles off,” said Carry, “but there will be a 
moon — ” 

(“ Most generally is !”) 


ALONE. 91 

Be quiet, sir ! it will be moonlight, and the road is level and 
dry — ’’ 

It stops at the creek to get a drink 

She aimed a blow at him with her fan, which he dodged. 

I am so little acquainted with them,^’ objected Ida. 

<< That’s nothing. Mr. and Mrs. Truman are the most 
hospitable of human beings, and Mary is a lovely girl — ” 

Per latest steamer from Paradise.”) 

“We must go. Sister is here to keep father company. Now 
the last query — what shall we wear ?” 

(“ The first shall be last.”) 

“ White muslins,” returned Ida. 

“ Yes; and the thinnest we have. Nothing else is endurable 
this weather — ” 

Except iced juleps !”) 

“ Arthur !” cried Carry, with a pretty affection of vexation. 
“ Come in, and keep your brother quiet !” 

“ What is he doing? he seems very harmless,” said Dr. Dana, 
stepping through the window from the piazza. 

The maligned individual applied his fist to his eye. “ I ain’t 
a-touching nothin !” 

“ I am security for his good behaviour,” continued Arthur, 
laying his arm across his shoulder. “ Proceed with the case in 
hand.” 

The rival merits of peach-blossoms and azure were set forth ; 
bandeaux preferred to curls — the gentlemen giving the casting 
vote; — kid and satin slippers paraded — Charley advocating 
“ calf-skin ;” — a muttering of “ patriotism” and “ domestic 
manufacture,” checked by a pinch from his brother; — every 
knot of ribbon ; — each bud and leaf of the bouquets were settled 
to the taste of the fair wearers before the council adjourned. 


92 


ALONE. 


CHAPTER IX. 

The most spacious of Mrs. Truman’s chambers were prepared 
for the ladies’ dressing-room, on the evening of the party ; and 
there were no spare corners, although several of the neighbours 
offered their houses for the use of those who dared not tempt 
the chance of crumpled robes and disarranged coiffures; the 
probable consequence of a ride eight or ten miles in gala dress. 
Every stage of the toilet was in progress, from the chrysalis of 
the dressing-gown to the full-winged butterfly, the sylph, who, 
with a dainty adjustment of her diaphanous drapery, and a last, 
lingering look at the flattering mirror, declared herself ready.’' 

Ida and Carry were bent upon dressing alike ; no easy matter 
•jO do, consistently with their perceptions of colours and fitness. 
No one hue became both ; so they proscribed the prismatic tints 
ind appeared in virgin white. Carry was beautiful as a dream 
of Pairy Land. The plump, white arms were bare to the 
shoulder, and without other ornament than their own fairness, 
except a chain of gold, attached to a locket, containing her 
parents’ hair. This she never left off. Snowy gloves hid hands, 
softer still ; the exquisitely-fitted corsage, and the waist it en- 
clasped, were the admiration, and, if truth must be told, the envy 
of the bevy of talkative damsels; but few remarked upon these 
after a sight of her face. Her hair would curl, do what she 
would ; the rebellious bandeaux refused to be plastered upon the 
blue- veined temples, but rippled and glittered, like nothing but 
a stream, golden in the sunset. The most artful soupgon of 
rouge ‘was a palpable counterfeit compared with her living 
bloom ; pearls lay between the ruby lips ; and a spirit, more 
priceless then gold or rubies, or pearls beamed from the liquid 
eyes. Ida looked forward with delight to Arthur’s exultant 
smile, when he should behold her ; and Carry, a like forgetful of 
self, was lost in gratified contemplation of the elegant figure of 
her friend. With not a tithe of the beauty of half the girls 
present, her tout ensemble was striking and attractive. The 
haughtiness which held the crowd at a distance, gave a high-bred 


ALONE. 93 

tone to her bearing, and one sentence, uttered in her clear voice, 
and a smile dispelled all unfavourable impressions. ' 

Arthur and Charley were at the foot of the stairs. 

What a Babel V* said Ida, as they entered the thronged 
rooms. 

And what a waste of breath replied Charley. << There is 
neither sociability, or rational enjoyment, to be had in these 
very large assemblies.' - 

<< I rather like the excitement of the crowd said Ida, it 
affects me strangely, but agreeably ; with the same sensation the 
waves may feel in their sports, — a tumultuous glee at being a 
part of the restless whole, — never still,- and always bounding 
onward." 

How do you account for it ? Is it magnetism — animal 
electricity ?" 

Perhaps so. If, as some contend, we are electrical machines, 
the revolving currents of the subtle fluid must operate powerfully 
upon the system of each, in a crowd like this. But to leave 
speculative ground — perilous to me, inasmuch as I do not know 
what I am talking about — " 

<< And I understand the science less," interrupted he. You 
remember the Scotchman’s definition of metaphysics — what were 
you going to ask 

Why you dislike these scenes ? I fancied you would be in 
your element." 

Excuse me for saying that I suspect you class me among 
amphibious creatures — a sui generis — equally at home in the air, 
earth, and water, and not over-well qualified for any of these 
states of existence." 

Ida would have disclaimed ; but he had come too near the 
mark ; the eyes that asked a repljj^were penetrating as laughing ; 
she was thankful that the bridal party released her from their 
regards. 

The bride is pretty," he observed, when the confusion was a 
little over. 

<<Tame praise for such beauty," said Ida. 

« What then ? superb — magnificent ? and if I wish to describe 
the Alps or Niagara, can you help me to a word ?" 

<< You do not affect the florid style now in vogue?" 


94 


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<<No. It is the vice of American language and literature. 
We ^ pile on the agony/ until the idea is smothered ; plain words 
lose their meaning, become too weak to go alone, and have to 
be bolstered up by sonorous adjectives.^^ 

Ida smiled, and turned her head to look for Ellen Morris. 
Charley remarked the movement, and imitated it. 

Ha ! can it be he exclaimed. 

<< What she questioned. 

I cannot be mistaken ! it is he ! What wind has blown him 
hither ? An old — I thought, a transatlantic friend ; the gentle- 
man with the moustache, conversing with one of the bridesmaids.^^ 

Ellen Morris ! I see him ; but he deserves more than the 
doubtful designation of the < gentleman with the moustache.' 
AVho, and what is he 

An artist and poet, just returned from Italy, and the hero of 
divers adventures, which, as you love the romantic, I may relate 
to you in my poor way some day. His cognomen is Lynn 
Holmes." 

<< He looks the poet ; how handsome !" 

( Tame praise for such beauty,' " quoted Charley, with mock 
gravity. 

It was, when applied to the face and form before them. He 
was not above the medium height ; symmetrically proportioned, 
hair purplish in its blackness, the arched nostril, and short upper 
lip indicative of spirit and gentle birth, and the rich, warm com- 
plexion had caught its flush from Italian suns. Its rapid fluctua- 
tions, plainly visible through the transparent olive of his cheek, 
spoke too, of passions kindled by that burning clime. But his 
eyes ! Ida's were darker, as she gazed into their midnight — 
large and dreamy and melancholy ! a world of unwritten poetry j 
but when did poet have, or artist paint such ! 

What is the conclusion of tSe whole matter ?" asked Charley, 
patiently. 

That you should speak to your friend /' letting go his arm. 
<^I shall not mind your leaving me alone." 

He replaced her hand. “ Content yourself. Miss Morris 
will not thank me, if I intrude at present. There is time enough. 
Pity he has chosen a starving profession." 

<< And why ( pity,' if in so doing he has followed the beckon- 


ALONE. 


95 


ing of genius ? He has hearkened to, and obeyed the teachings 
of his higher nature. Can they mislead 

<< When we mistake their meaning. Genius steers wildly 
astray if the compass-box of judgment is wanting. My remark 
was a general one’' — seeing her grave look. Holmes is one of 
the gifted of the earth ; and when I lamented his choice of a pro- 
fession, I did not censure him, but the public. He ought to 
have a nabob’s fortune to perfect his schemes ; and he will not 
make a living. Men squander thousands for the intellectual 
gratification of a horse-race ; an exhibition in which, I allow, the 
brute is generally the nobler animal; — and knowingly brand 
him ^ a verdant ’un,’ who expends a quarter of that sum in works 
of art. Will you dance ? I hear a violin.” 

<< I think not. It is too warm.” 

<< To say nothing of the crowd. In dancing, as in most things, 
I prefer standing upon my own footing — not upon other people’s 
toes.” 

Nevertheless, there were those present who could not withstand 
the allurement of a << hop,” under any circumstances; and by 
snug packing on the part of the soberly-inclined, while numbers 
sought the freer air of the passages and piazzas, room was made 
for a set. Ellen Morris joined it, and Mr. Holmes had time to 
look about him. His start of delight as he recognised Charley, 
and the heartiness of their greetings, showed their mutual attach- 
ment ; and imagining that they would have much to say after a 
lengthy separation, Ida would have fallen in the rear, had not 
Charley forestalled her by a prompt presentation of his friend. 
They exchanged, indeed, one or two brief questions and replies; 
but these over, she was the centre of attraction. The pantiug, 
heated dancers tripped by, commiserating, if they noticed the 
hum-drum” group at the window ; never thinking that, demure 
as they appeared, there was more enjoyment in that secluded 
recess, than in the entire mass of revellers besides. There are 
harmonies in conversation, the arrangement of which is wofully 
disregarded. Accident had collected a rare trio. The artist 
talked as he would have painted ; descrying beauties everywhere, 
and bringing them together with a masterly hand; only tolerating 
deformity, as it displayed them to more advantage, and shedding 
over all the mellow glow of his fervid imagination ; startling by 


96 


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paradoxes, to enchant by the grace and beauty of their reconcilia- 
tion. And Charley, Tyith a cooler brain and wary eye, was 
ready to temper, not damp his enthusiasm } — not to dam the 
rushing flood, but lead it aside into a smoother channel. Ida 
thought of the compass-box, and charmed as she was by the 
eloquence of this modern Raphael, acknowledged the justice of 
the simile. For herself, appreciative and suggestive, she fanned 
the flame. Her sympathetic glance and smile, the quick catching 
at a thought, half unuttered ; the finish and polish his crude 
ideas received from her lighter hand, could not but please and 
flatter. How grating was the interruption ! — ^ 

Mr. Dana! not dancing 1 ” 

No, Mr. Truman, but exceedingly well entertained.^' 

Hav’nt a doubt of it 1 hav’nt a doubt! but there^s a young 
lady — a stranger- — who wants a partner for the set that is form- 
ing, and as your brother is engaged — to dance, I mean — with 
Miss Somebody — I forget who — I thought as an old friend, I 
would make so free as to call upon you, ah — ah — she being a 
stranger, you understand, ah — ah — 

Certainly sir, of course, where is she said Charley, swal- 
lowing his chagrin, in his willingness to oblige the embarrassed 
host. Charles Dana, ‘ having gone to see his partner,' desires 
the prayers of the congregation," he said aside to his compa- 
nions, before plunging into the throng. 

<< ‘ 0, rare Ben Jonson !' " said Mr. Holmes, as they disap- 
peared. 

And most incomprehensible of anomalies !" responded Ida. 
The dross is upon the surface — refined gold beneath. Have 
you known him long ?" 

<< But a fortnight." 

“You have not mastered the alphabet yet. Bright and danc- 
ing as is that eye, I have seen it shed tears in abundance and 
softness, like a woman’s. His tongue knows other language than 
that of flippant trifling." 

“ He is a universal favorite. I am surprised he has never 
married." 

Mr. Holmes was silent. He even looked pained; and Ida, 
conscious that she had unwittingly touched a sore spot, took up 
the strain Mr. Truman had broken. She was in the Coliseum 


ALONE. 


97 


of Rome; when among the moving sea of faces precipitated upon 
the retina, yet nothing to the brain, unless, perhaps, making 
more vivid its conceptions of the' multitude, who onoc lined the 
crumbling walls of the amphitheatre — one arrested her atten- 
tion. The subject was thrilling; the speaker’s description gra- 
phic and earnest ; — it was unkind, and ungrateful, and disre- 
spectful — but laugh she must, and did, when in Charley’s 
partner she beheld Celestia Pratt ! Her first emotion was 
extreme amusement; her next, indignant compassion for him 
thrust into public notice as the cavalier of a tawdry fright ; for 
the thickest of satin robes, and a load of jewelry, that gave plau- 
sibility to the tale of Hannibal’s spoils at Cannae, betrayed, 
instead of cloaking vulgarity. He was playing the agreeable, 
however, with his wonted sang-froid, varied, as she judged from 
his gestures, by gratuitous hints as to the figure and step. In 
trying to efface the remembrance of her rudeness from Mr. 
Holmes’ mind, and watching the oddly matched pair, she passed 
the time until the set was finished. Arthur approached, and the 
gleam of his white teeth upset her acquired gravity. 

<< Caught,” said he, as Mr. Holmes walked away, «just as I 
was. I secured a partner directly I saw her; and Mr. Truman, 
hearing from her that I was an acquaintance, put at me two 
minutes later.” • 

He said you were engaged — to dance.” 

Here he is ! Charley, I thought you declined dancing.” 

So I did. I consented to please Mr. Truman.” 

Had you ever seen your partner before ?” 

No. I know what you are at. Art., but I cannot laugh with 
you. I am sorry for her.” 

<<You shame us, Mr. Dana,” said Ida, frankly. << I will 
make amends for my uncharitableness, by fighting my way, sin- 
gle-handed, to the farthest end of the room, to speak to her, if 
you say so.” 

And I, not to be outdone, will dance with her,” said Arthur, 
with a martyr-air. • 

<< I absolve you,” said his brother. She is a queer fish, I 
own,” in his light tone. << Have you spoken to Holmes ?” 

Yes. He says he has partly resolved to winter in Rich- 
mond. He is a groomsman ; but the party disband to-morrow ; 

• 9 


98 


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only Miss Morris, attending the young couple to their home up 
the country. I have invited Lynn to spend some time with us, 
before he settles to business.^^ 

Will he come 
Probably.^' 

A succession of introductions and beaux engaged Ida until 
supper. She forgot her purpose of speaking with Celestia, and 
would not have remembered her again that evening, had she not 
been made aware of her proximity at table by something between 
a grunt and exclamation, forced through a mouthful of cake. 
Lor! if that ainH Idy Ross 

She had a saucer of ice-cream in one hand, and a slice of fruit- 
cake in her left ; so she stuck out a red elbow in lieu of either ; 
which unique salutation Ida pretended not to see. 

< How are you, Celestia ? When did you come into the 
neighbourhood 

<< I jest got down yesterday. You see,” in a stage whisper, 
« I heard of this party better’n a fortnight ago, and ma and I 
set our hearts ^pon my coming ; so I had this dress made (it 
cost four dollars a yard !) and happened, you know, to pay a 
visit to Cousin Lucindy Martinis, jest in the nick of time, and 
Mrs. Truman, found out, you know, that I was there, and sent 
<ne a < bid.^ Didn’t I manage it nice?” 

<< You appear to be having a pleasant time.” 

<< 0, splendid ! I’ve danced every set. Thar’s a heap of polite 
beaux — ain’t there ?” 

<5 Miss Ross, what shall I have the pleasure of helping you 
to ?” asked Mr. Euston, Ida’s escort. 

<^She named an article, and Celestia twitched her arm — 

Who’s that ?” 

<< Mr. Euston,” said Ida, distinctly. * 

Is he your beau? 

« No.” 

« Then you’d as lief as not interduce me, hadn’t you? He’s 
the loveliest thing I ever saw.” 

Ida flushed with disgust and vexation ; the insufferable con- 
ceit of the girl, her bizarre appearance, and harsh tones drew the 
notice of many to them; and her horror of ridicule was strong 
upon her. 


ALONE. 


99 


< Miss Ida/’ said Gliarles Dana, across the table. << Will you 
eat a philopoena with me?” As he tossed the almoud, she 
marked his expression, and the scene in the painting-room, Jose- 
phine’s derision, and the rude mirth of her supporters, her hur- 
ricane of rage and the commanding look that said to it “ Be 
still,” all rushed over her like a whirlwind, and departed sud- 
denly. .Mr. Euston was bowing with the desired delicacy; 
Celestia, serenely expectant, and with the mien of one who con- 
fers a favour upon both parties, she complied with the fair lady’s 
request. Mr. Euston was handsome and gallant; he immedi- 
ately dipped into his stock of pretty sayings, and presented one 
of the most elegant. The recipient fluttered and prinked, and 
baited another hook; and Ida stole a look at Charley. Her not 
recognizing him before was no marvel ; she could hardly per- 
suade herself that her conviction of a minute before was not an 
illusion; so impervious was the Momus mask. He was fre- 
quently near, and with her, in the course of the evening : but 
no sign betokened a suspicion of her perplexity. He was gayer 
than his wont ; when sheer fatigue drove the votaries of pleasure 
from the festive hall, his spirits were at their meridian. He had 
passed most of the day on horseback ; had talked and danced and 
stood for six hours; yet he sent off carriage after carriage with a 
lively adieu ; and seeing his own party seated in theirs, vaulted 
into the saddle, as for a morning gallop. He cheered the weary 
travellers so long as he could extort replies from the lagging 
tongues, and serenaded them the rest of the way with snatches 
of melody fantastic as his mood. 

a Why have you and Charley preserved such a mysterious 
silence respecting our former meeting ?” inquired Ida, when she 
and Carry were laid down to sleep. 

He charged me not to name him, if I heard the matter 
alluded to; and, since we have been at home, enjoined secrecy 
more strictly, saying the incident was better forgotten than 
remembered,” said Carry, dozingly. 

This was Thursday. On Saturday the young artist made one 
in their midst. In his school-days he was a welcome guest at 
Poplar-grove, spending a portion of his vacation with his friend 
Charley, and the lapse of years had not rusted the hinges of 


100 


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the hospitable doors, or those of the master’s heart. He was 
received and cherished as of old. 

Mrs. Dana looked into the girls’ room before retiring. Ida 
was brushing her hair; Carry watching and talking to her. 

Yes,” said she, complacently, appealing to her sister for con- 
firmation. << I flatter myself our party could not be more select 
or composed of choicer materials. Four beaux — including^ father 
— handsomest of all; and but two belles — three — pardon me, 
Mrs, Dana. It may be a century ere we are again so blessed ; 
and we must go somewhere, or do something to exhibit our- 
selves. Ida may have Charley and father, if she will leave the 
Italian and his lamping eyes to me. 

And Arthur — why is he neglected the division of spoils ?” 
asked Mrs. Dana. 

I make him over to you. Brother John commended you to 
his care.” 

Mammy applied to me for numberless passes, to-night. 
There is a big meeting at Rocky Mount. The servants will 
attend en masse, to-morrow; why not follow their example ?” 
said Mrs. Dana, with playful irony. 

We will !” exclaimed Carry, clapping her hands. << I’ll 
ask father this minute.” 

But, my dear sister — ” 

Don’t say a word, Jenny; Ida would like to go, I am sure.” 

When I understand the character of the entertainment ; I 
shall be qualified to express my wishes.” 

(( Why,” answered Carry, tying the cord of the wrapper she 
had cast around her. They preach a little, and sing and 
shout; and in intermission, we have grand fun.” 

Fun ! at church !” 

That is not the word precisely; but everybody meets every- 
body else, and we have an hour for talking and eating. How 
happens it, that you are a novice ? you are country-born.” 

I was never at a big meeting, notwithstanding.” 

An additional reason, why we should be on the spot to- 
morrow. I will be back directly.” 

In five minutes she returned, blushing and laughing. 

Would you believe it? When I knocked at father’s door, 
Arthur opened it. I slunk back in the dark, and asked for 


ALONE. 


101 


< Mars ter.’ ^ Doctor/ said he, < Martha wants to see you,’ and 
sauntered off. Didn’t father stare, and I laugh, when I ran in ! 
The stupid creature ! to be fooled so easily 1” 

The meeting !” said Ida. 

All’s well ! Father was afraid we might be tired, if we 
stayed to both sermons; but I assured him that was impossible. 
I hope it will be a fine day !” 

She was gratified ; but the weather was not brighter than the 
faces gathered upon the piazza, at a shockingly unfashionable 
hour. It was six miles to Rocky Mount; and as Charley 
observed, « seats in the dress circle would be at a premium, two 
hours before services begun.” 

< Marster’ does not accompany us,” said Arthur, significantly, 
as he handed Carry into the carriage. She was too much con- 
fused to reply; but Ida and Mrs. Dana laughed outright. 

Papa and myself, having no vagrant propensities, will go to 
our own church,” anwered the latter. And if you have waited 
upon the young ladies, I will thank you to put me into the gig, 
Dr. Dana.” 

Mr. Holmes accepted a seat with the ladies ; Charley and 
Arthur were on horseback. It is doubtful if one of the merry 
riders realised, for an instant, the sacredness of the day, or that 
they were bound to a place of worship. It did not occur, even 
to Dr. Carleton, that their glee, innocent and proper upon ordi- 
nary occasions, now verged upon sinful levity. He saw in it, 
the buoyancy of youth under the infiuence of agreeable company, 
and a cloudless day. They would be subdued by the exercises 
of' the sanctuary; and he drove along, his large heart full of 
love and praise to Him who had showered these gem-sparkles 
into his chalice of life ; the young people beguiling the length 
of their journey, by a running fire of badinage, puns and serio- 
comic discussions; embarked, to all intents and purposes, upon 
a party of pleasure. 

Behold Rocky Mount !” said Arthur, pointing to a rising 
ground, tufted by a clump of oaks. 

Where is the church?” inquired Ida. <‘I can distinguish 
people and horses, but no house.” 

After we get there, I will lend you my pocket microscope,” 
responded Charley. The brown walls of a small building, in 

9 ^ 


102 


ALONE. 


the centre of the grove, were visible, as the road wound around 
the hill ; but its dimensions were as great a puzzle as its absence 
would have been. Carry came to her aid. 

They preach out of doors, my dear.^' 

Out of doors I” this was a charming novelty. 

^ The groves were God^s first temples,’' ” she repeated softly, 
and Lynn continued the noble lines — 

“Ah, why 

Should we, in the world’s riper years, neglect 
God’s ancient sanctuaries, and adore. 

Only among the crowd, and under roofs 
That our frail hands have raised ?” 

Charley smiled dubiously, but held his peace. The crowd 
thickened with their advance. Horses were tethered in solid 
ranks to the trees ; children straying frightfully near to their 
heels ; wagons and carriages almost piled upon each other ; and 
men, white and black, stood about everywhere. The driver 
reined up, twenty yards from the arbor erected under the trees. 

Drive up nearer, Tom \” said Carry. 

<< He cannot,'' replied Arthur, letting down the steps. 

Look !" 

There was a quadruple row of vehicles on three sides of the 
arbor, the fourth being, at considerable pains, left open for 
passage. Several young men dashed to the side of the carriage, 
with as much impressment as at a ball, and thus numerously 
attended, the girls picked their way through the throng and 
dust. No gentlemen were, as yet, in their seats, and our party 
secured a vacant bench midway to the pulpit. 

<< Don't sit next to the aisle," whispered Arthur. 

Why not ?" questioned Ida, removing to the other extremity 
of the plank. 

Oh ! it is more comfortable here. We will be with you 
again presently." 

That is not all the reason," remarked Carry, when he was 
gone. This railing protects us from the press on this side ; 
and our young gentleman will not permit any one to occupy the 
stand without, but themselves." 

Will they not sit down?" 

No, indeed ! there will not be room. Then the aisles will 


ALONE. 103 

be filled with all sorts of people, and our dresses be liable to 
damage from boots and tobacco juice.” 

Tobacco juice !” was she in a barbarous country ! As Carry 
predicted, their three attendants worked their way, between the 
wheels and the people, to where they sat. Charley crawled 
under the rail, and planted himself behind them. 

<< I can keep my position until some pretty girl dislodges me,” 
said he. The denizens of these parts have not forgotten how 
to stare.” 

He might well say so A battery of eyes was levelled upon 
them, wherever they looked. The tasteful dress and elegant 
appearance of the ladies, and their attractive suite, were subjects 
of special importance to the community at large. Although 
eclipsed in show by some present, theirs was a new constellation, 
and they must support observation as they could. They stood 
fire bravely; Ida was most unacccustomed to it, and she found 
so much to interest and divert her, that she became unconscious 
of the annoyance after a little. 

f^Are those seats reserved for distinguised strangers? have 
not we a right to them ?” designating a tier in front of the 
speaker’s stand. 

They are the anxious benches,” returned Charley. 

Nonsense !” 

« So I think. The brethren dissent from us. I am not 
quizzing. That is the name.” 

The mourners — the convicted occupy them,” said Carry. 

« Are they here ?” inquired Ida, credulously. It was prepos- 
terous to conceive such a possibility in this frivolous loud-talking 
assembly. 

« Not now;” answered Charley. << But when they crowd on 
the steam, you will witness scores.” 

« Fie ! Charley ? it is wicked to speak so !” 

al am just as pious as if I did not, Carry. I’ll wager my 
horse — and head too — that by to-night, Miss Ida will agree with 
me, that these religious frolics are more hurtful to the cause they 
are intended to advance, than fifty such harmless affairs, as we 
attended on Thursday night.” 

I am not solemnised yet ;” said Ida. 

<< You are as solemn as you are going to be. You may be 


m 


ALONE. 


excited, or frightened into something like gravity. Two, three, 
four preachers ! That^s what I call a waste of the raw material. 
What a flutter of ribbons and fans ! The congregation reminds 
me of a clover field, with the butterflies hovering over its gaily- 
colored, bobbing heads. Handsome ladies by dozens ! This 
county is famed for its beauty, and but one tolerable-looking 
man in its length and breadth 1’^ 

Why, there is Mr. Euston — what fault have you to find in 
him V’ 

“ He is the honorable exception. Whom did you think I 
meant smiling mischievously at Carry’s unguarded query. 

Art. here, is passable. Modesty prevents my saying more, as 
we are daily mistaken for each other. The music strikes up; — 
rather quavering ; they are not in the < spirit’ yet. They never 
get to the ^ understanding.’ I must decamp. Those fair ones 
are too bashful to look this way, while I am here.” 

He was on the outside of the> rail, sedate and deacon-like, in 
a minute. Unsuited as his remarks were to the time and place, 
they were less objectionable than the whispers of the ladies, who 
dispossessed him; — critiques-upon Susan’s beaux and Joseph’s 
sweethearts; upon faces, dress and deportment; a quantity of 
reprobation, and very sparse praises. 

The preacher was an unremarkable man, who delivered, in a 
sing-song tone, an unremarkable discourse ; opposing no impedi- 
ment to the sociability of the aforementioned damsels, except 
that they lowered their shrill staccato to a piano. The gentle- 
men whispered behind their hats, notched switches, and whittled 
sticks. The hearers from Poplar-grove, albeit they were gay, 
youthful, and non-professors, were the most decorous auditors in 
their part of the congregation. Another minister arose ; a man 
not yet in his thirtieth year, his form stooped, as beneath the 
weight of sixty winters. The crowd stilled instantly. He 
leaned, as for support, upon the primitive desk ; his attenuated 
hands clasped, his eyes moving slowly in their cavernous 
recesses, over the vast assemblage. <^And what come ye out 
into the wilderness for to see?” he said, in a voice of preter- 
natural sweetness and strength. <<Aye! ye are come as to a 
holiday pageant, bedecked in tinsel and costly raiment. I see 
before me the pride of beauty and youth ; the middle-aged, in 


A L 3 N E. 


105 


the strength of manliness and honor, the hoary hairs and deorepid 
limbs of age; — all trampling — hustling each other in your haste 
— ^in one beaten road — the way to death and judgment ! Oh I 
fools and blind ! slow-worms, battening upon the damps and filth 
of this vile earth ! hugging your muck rakes while the glorious 
One proffers you the crown of Life The bent figure straight- 
ened ; the thin hands were endowed with a language of power, 
as they pointed, and shook, and glanced through the air. His 
clarion tones thrilled upon every ear, their alarms and threaten- 
ings and denunciations ; in crashing peals, the awful names of 
the Most High, and His condemnations of the wicked, descended 
among the throng ; and those fearful eyes were fiery and wrath- 
ful. At the climax he stopped ; — with arms still upraised, and 
the words of woe and doom yet upon his lips, he sank upon the 
arm of a brother beside him, and was led to his seat, ghastly as 
a corpse, and nearly as helpless. 

A female voice began a hymn. 

This is the field, the world below, — 

Where wheat and tares together grow,* 

Jesus, ere long will weed the crop. 

And pluck the tares in anger up.” 

The hills, for miles around, reverberated the bursting chorus, 

For soon the reaping time will come. 

And angels shout the harvest home !” 

The ministers came down from the stand, and distributed 
themselves among the people ; bowed heads and shaking forms 
marking their path ; — a woman in the most remote quarter of 
the throng, rushed up to the mourner’s seats, and flung herself 
upon her knees with a piercing cry; — another and another; — 
some weeping aloud ; some in tearless distress ; — numbers knelt 
where they had sat ; — and louder and louder, like the final trump, 
and the shout of the resurrection morn, arose the surge of song; — ■ 

“For soon tbe reaping time will come 
And angels shout the harvest home !” 

Carry trembled and shrank; and Ida’s firmer nerves were 
quivering. A lull in the storm, and a man knelt in the aisle, 
to implore mercy and pardon for a dying sinner, who would 
not try to avert the wrath to come.” 

Sonorous accents went on with his weeping petition;— praying 


106 


ALONE. 


for <alie hardened, thoughtless transgressors — those who had 
neither part nor lot in this matter ^ who stood afar off, despising 
and reckless/^ Again rolled out a chorus ; speaking now of 
joyful assurance. 

Jesus my all to heaven has gone — 

(When we get to heaven we will part no more,) 

He whom I fix my hopes upon — 

When wo get to heaven we will part no more. 

Oh! Fare-you-well ! oh! fare-you-well ! 

When we get to heaven we will part no more, 

Oh ! Fare-you-well !” 

Ida^s eyes brimmed, and Carry sobbed with over-wrought 
feeling. Arthur bent over the railing and spoke to the latter. 
He looked troubled, — ^but for her : Lynn stood against one of 
the pillars which supported the roof ; arms crossed, and a redder 
mantling of his dark cheek ; Charley was cool and grave, taking 
in the scene in all its parts, with no sympathy with any of the 
phases of emotion. The tumult increased; shouted thankgivings, 
and wails of despair ; singing and praying and exhorting, clash- 
ing in wild confusion. 

You had best not to stay here,^^ said Arthur to Carry, whose 
struggles for composure he could not bear to see. 

“ Suffer me to pass. Dr. Dana and a venerable minister 
stooped towards the weeping girl. (( My daughter, why do you 
remain here, so far from those who can do you good ? You are 
distressed on account of sin; are you ashamed to have it known? 
Do you not desire the prayer of Christians ? I will not affirm 
that you cannot be saved anywhere ; < the arm of the Lord is not 
shortened,^ but I do warn you, that if you hang back in pride or 
stubbornness, you will be lost; and these only can detain you 
after what you have heard. Arise, and join that company of 
weeping mourners, it may not be too late.^^ 

Carry shook her head. 

Then kneel where you are, and I will pray for you.^^ 

She dried her tears. Why should I kneel, Mr. Manly ? I 
do not experience any sorrow for sin.^^ 

My child r 

<< My tears are "bot those of penitence ; I do not weep for my 
sinfulness ; I can neither think nor feel in this confusion.^' 

The good man was fairly stumbled by this avowal. 

<< Have you no interest in this subject 


ALONE. 107 

<< Not more than usual, sir. My agitation proceeded from 
animal excitement.” ) 

I am fearful it is the same in a majority of instances, Mr. 
Manly said Arthur, respectfully. 

You my perceive your error one day, my son ; let me entreat 
you to consider this matter as binding up your eternal welfare ; 
and caution you not to lay a feather in the way of those who may 
be seeking their salvation.” 

Arthur bowed silently; and the minister passed on. 

Dr. Carleton retired early that evening with a headache. 
Mrs. Dana was getting the children to sleep ; the young people 
had the parlor to themselves. Charley was at the piano, finger- 
ing over sacred airs ; psalm tunes, sung by the Covenanters, in 
their craggy temples, or murmuring an impromptu accompani 
ment, a chant or doxology. All at once he struck the chords 
boldly, and added the full powers of the instrument to his voice, 
in the fine old melody of Brattle Street. Lynn ceased his walk 
through the room, and united his rich base at the second line ; 
Arthur, a tenor; dairy and Ida were happy to be permitted to 
listen — 


While Thee I seek, protecting Power, 
Be my vain wishes stilled-; 

And may this consecrated hour 
With better hopes be filled. 

Thy love the power of thought bestowed, 
To thee my thoughts would soar; 

Thy mercy o’er my life has poured. 

That mercy I adore. 

In each event of life how clear 
Thy ruling hand I see ! 

Each mercy to my soul most dear. 
Because conferred by Thee. 

In every joy that crowns my days. 

In every pain I bear, 

My heart shall find delight in praise. 

Or seek relief in prayer. 

When gladness wings my favored hour. 
Thy love my thoughts shall fill; 

Resigned — when storms of sorrow lower. 
My soul shall meet Thy will. 

My lifted eye, without a tear. 

The gathering storm shall see; 

My steadfast heart shall know no fear. 
That heart will rest on Thee!” 


lOB 


ALONE. 


<< There !” said Charley, there is more religion in that hymn 
than in all the fustian we have heard to-day ; sermons, prayers 
and exhortations. Humbug in worldly concerns is despicable ; 
in the church, it is unbearable.^^ 

Consider, Charley, that hundred of pious people believe in 
the practices you condemn. Some of the best Christians I know 
were converted at these noisy revivals/' said Carry. 

“ It would be miraculous if there were not a grain or two of 
wheat in this pile of chaff. I never attend one that I am not 
the worse for it. It is a regular annealing furnace ; when the 
heat subsides you can neither soften or bend the heart again — 
the iron is steel. What does Miss Ida say 

That sin is no more hateful, or religion more alluring, for 
this Sabbath's lessons ; still, I acquiesce in Carry's belief, that 
although mistaken in their zeal, these seeming fanatics are 
sincere." 

^‘You applaud enthusiasm upon other subjects, why not in 
religion?" asked Lynn , if any thing, it is everything. If Icould 
believe that, when the stormy sea of life is passed, heaven — an 
eternal noon-tide of love and blessedness would be mine — a life- 
time would be too short, mortal language too feeble to express 
my transport. There is a void in the soul which nought but this 
can satisfy. Life is fresh to us now ; but from the time of 
Solomon to the present, the worlding has nauseated at the pol- 
luted spring, saying, < For all his days are sorrow, and his travail 
grief ; yea, his heart taketh not rest in the night.' I envy — not 
carp at the joys of those whose faith, piercing through the fogs 
of this lower earth, reads the sure promise — ^It is your Father's 
good pleasure to give you the kingdom.' " 

“You do homage to the beauty of the Faith, by whomsoever 
professed. I note its practical effects ; judge of its genuineness 
by its workings. For example,(the Old Harry awoke mightily 
within me, in intermission, to see Dick Eogers preaching to 
Carry, threatening her with perdition — she, who never in her 
life, committed a tenth of the sin he is guilty of every day. He 
has been drunk three times in the last month ; he is a walking 
demijohn ; his hypocrisy a shame to his grey hairs. And James 
Mather — he would sell his soul for a fourpence, and call it clear 
gain. Sooner than lose a crop, he forces his negroes to work on 


ALONE. 


109 


Sunday — can’k trust the God of harvest, even upon Ilis own 
day. The poor hands are driven on week-days as no decent 
man would do a mule ; — he let his widowed sister go to the poor- 
house, and offered to lend John five thousand dollars, the next 
week at eight per cent. I have known him since I was a shaver, 
and never had a word from him upon the < one thing needful,^ 
except at church. And he was in the altar, this morning, shout- 
ing as though the Lord were deaf 
Charley ! Charley 

Facts are obstinate things. Carry. Next to being hypocri- 
tical ourselves, is winking at it in others. The church keeps 
these men in her bosom ; she must not complain, if she shares 
in the odium they merit. They are emphatically sounding 
brass.'^ 

<< Let them grow together until the harvest,^^ said Arthur. 

It is a convincing proof of the truth of Religion, that there are 
careful counterfeits.^^ ^ 

<< I do not impeach the < truth of Religion.' You need not 
speak so reproachfully, Arthur. I believe in the Christianity of 
the Scriptures. What I assail, is intermittent piety; springs, 
whose channels are dusty, save at particular seasons ; — camp- 
meetings and the like ; men, who furbish up their religion, along 
with their go-to-meeting boots, and wear it no longer. Their 
brethren despise them as I do ; but their mouths are shut, lest 
they < bring disgrace upon their profession.' It can have no 
fouler disgrace than their lives afford I speak what others con- 
ceal ; when one of these whited sepulchres lifts his Bible to break 
my head, for a graceless reprobate, I pelt him with pebbles from 
the same clear brook. Look at old Thistleton ! a mongrel, — ■ 
porcupine and bull-dog; — pricking and snarling from morning 
'till night. A Christian is a gentleman; he is a surly growler. 
Half of the church hate, the other half dread him; yet he sits 
on Sabbaths, in the high places of the synagogues, leads prayer- 
meetings, and weeps over sinners — sanctified ^ brother Thistleton.' 
He thunders the law at me ; and I knock him down with a stout 
stick, St. John cuts ready to my hand; — ^If a man say, I love 
God, and hate his brother, he is a liar F J hush up Rogers, 
^ith — ^ No drunkard shall inherit the kingdom ;' and Mather, 
with, < You cannot serve God and Mammon.' They say I am a 

10 


110 


ALONE. 


scoffer; — Idon^tcare. — continued this contrary being, 

passing into a tone of reverent feeling; — “There is my kind 
guardian. I don’t believe he ever shouted, or made a public 
address in his life. He livei his religion ; a child can perceive 
that the Bible is a < lamp to his feet ;’ a pillar of cloud in pros- 
perity ; a sun in adversity. I saw it when a boy, and it did me 
more good than the preached sermons I have listened to since. 
He called me into his study the night before I left home, and gave 
me a copy of < the book.’ < Charley, my son,’ said he, ^ you are 
venturing upon untried seas ; here is the Chart, to which T have 
trusted for twenty years ; and have never been led by it, upon a 
quicksand. Look to it, my boy !’ I have read it, more, because 
he asked it, than for its intrinsic value; that is my failing, not 
his. I have waded through sloughs of theories and objections; 
but hold to it still. Especially, when I am here, and kneel in 
my old place at the family altar ; hear the solemn tones, that 
quieted my boyish gayety ; when I witness his irreproachable, 
useful life, I say, <■ His chart is true ; would I were guided by 
it !’ No — no — Art. ! I may be careless and sinful; — I am no 
skeptic.” 

“ A skeptic,” exclaimed Lynn. “ There never was one ! 
Voltaire was a fiend incarnate; a devil, who « believed and trem- 
bled,’ in spite of his hardihood ; Paine, a brute, who, inconve- 
nienced by a soul, which would not sink as low as his passions 
commanded, tried to show that he had none, as the easiest 
method of disembarrassing himself. That one of G-od’s creatures, 
who can look up to the glories of a night like this, or see the 
sun rise to-morrow morning, and peep, in his insect voice, a 
denial of Him who made the world, is demon or beast ; — often 
both. < Call no man happy ’till he dies.’ Atheists have gone 
to the stake for their opinions ; but physical courage or the heat 
of fanaticism, not the belief, sustained them. We have yet to 
hear of the infidel, who died in his bed, 

* As one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.* " 

“ It is a mystery that one can die tranquilly,” said Carry. 

“ I have stood by many peaceful death-beds,” returned Arthur. 
« I never wish so ardently for an interest in the Redemption, as 


ALONE. 


Ill 


when I watch the departure of a saint. One verse is in my 
mind for days afterwards. I repeat it aloud as I ride alone j and 
it lingers in my last waking thought at night : 

^ Jesus can make a dying bed 
Feel soft as downy pillows are ; 

While on his breast, I lean my head, 

And breathe my life out sweetly there.* 

<<And why do you not encourage these feelings?^' asked 
Charley, bluntly. call that conviction; a different thing 

'from the burly of this morning. You want to be a Christian; — 
so do I sometimes; but you are a more hopeful subject.'^ 

I am by no means certain of that. You would never abide 
with the half-decided, so long as I' have done. You are one 
of the < violent,^ who would take the kingdom of Heaven by 
force.^^ 

<< How strange said Charley, thoughtfully. 

What is strange inquired his brother. 

Here are five of us, as well-assured of the verity of Chris- 
tianity, and Grod^s ‘revealed Word, as of our own existence; the 
ladies, practising every Christian virtue; Lynn, prepared to 
break a lance with' infidelity in any shape ; you, like Agrippa, 
almost persuaded ; and I, stripping off the borrowed plumage of 
those who have a name to live ; — yet we will be content to close 
our eyes in sleep, uncertain of re-opening them in life ; — unfit 
for Heath and Eternity 

He turned again to the piano; Arthur quitted the room ; Lynn 
gazed out of the window, with working features ; Carry shaded 
her eyes with her hand ; Ida felt a cold awe creeping over her. 
< Death and Eternity V had she heard the words before ? how out 
of place in the bright warm life they were leading ! Here were 
true friendships, tried and strengthened by years ; young love, 
joying in his flowery course; refined and congenial spirits; the 
luxuries of wealth and taste; — how unwelcome the hand that 
lifted the drapery which enveloped the skeleton ! ^ Death and 

Eternity T The spell was upon the scented air ; the moon 
threw shadows upon the grass, as of newly heaped graves ; and 
the vibrating cords spoke but of the one awful theme ! 


112 


ALONE. 


CHAPTER X. 

<<OiJR last ride — can it be said Lynn, when the horses 
were brought to the gate, early in a September afternoon. Ida 
smiled faintly. The parting of the morrow, was, to her, the 
death of a summer’s day, to be succeeded by wintry darkness. ^ 
Not even Carry knew how the prospect oppressed her. 

Lynn saw that his remark was injudicious, and endeavoured 
to atone for it, by the most delicate assiduity of attention. 
Their liking had matured into an attachment, which might have 
been predicated upon their consonance of, feeling and sentiment. 
Her calmer judgment gave her the ascendency, which belonged 
of right, to the masculine mind ; he did not look up — she could 
not have respected him if he had j but he consulted and appealed 
to her, as a brother would ask counsel of an elder sister. She 
learned to imitate Charley, in curbing his impetuosity ; and he 
chafed less at her soft touch upon the rein. No bantering 
checked the growth of their friendship ; they were, for the time, 
members of one family ; Lynn and Charley were no more to' the 
disengaged young lady than Arthur. 

Their excursion was to a splendid mansion, fifteen miles from 
Poplar-grove, lately completed, and not yet occupied by a 
wealthy landed proprietor, the Craesus of the county. Arthur 
had seen it, and carried home such a report of its stately gran- 
deur, that a visit was forthwith projected. Nature was in one 
of her richest autumnal moods. 

^^She dies, as a queen should — in royal robes,”— said Lynn. 
<< Note the purple haze upon those hills, and the yellow glory 
that bathes the foreground ! I would sacrifice this right arm, 
could I first transfer that light to canvass. Loveliness like this 
maddens me with a Tantalas frenzy. To think that it must 
fade, when it should be immortal ! I would have it ever before 
me.” 

, <<It lives in your memory. That is a pleasure, time nor. 
distance diminishes.” 

I am not satisfied with this selfish hoarding. A voice is 


ALONE. 


113 


ever urging me on, — < Create! create!’ it cries; and while my 
pencil moves, I am a creator ; exulting in the pictures graven 
upon my soul, as no parent ever joyed over a beloved child. 

‘ They are mine — mine !’ I repeat in an ecstacy. I have wept 
above — almost worshipped them ! Then comes the chill, grey 
light of critical reason, as when you awake at morning, and see 
things as they are : the soul-pictures are beauteous still : — my 
copy the veriest daub !” 

« The keenness of your disappointment is an augury of success. 
The lithography is perfect — you must not despond at the failure 
of one pr6of-impression. Your mortification is a greater triumph 
than the complacency with which a mediocre genius surveys his 
work.” 

You remember Sheridan’s maiden speech,” said Charley. 

<< I have read of Demosthenes’,” replied Lynn. 

<< Sheridan’s was a similar case. He was hooted at for his 
presumption ; his first and second attempts were wretched : and 
his friends advised him to retire from the rostrum forever. 

< Never !’ said he, striking his breast. <It is here^ and shall come 
out !’ ” 

A glorious ^ coming out’ it was!” responded Ida. <<What 
do you say now ?” — to Lynn. 

^^That it is here!” returning her bright look. <<Was ever 
man more blessed in his friends ? More fortunate than Adam, I 
take my guardian angels with me, from the Paradise I leave 
to-morrow.” 

<< You must array one in a less questionable shape, if you 
would have men admit his angelic relationship,” said Charley, 
with a grimace. What are you looking at?” 

Lynn did not reply. They were upon a hill; and some object 
in the valley beneath fastened his gaze. The pensive cast of his 
features bordered upon gloom, as they neared it. Ida saw only 
a graceful knoll, bounded, except towards the west, by a chain 
of more imposing eminences. A monarch oak stood in isolated 
sovereignty upon its summit ; it had shaded a dwelling, for one 
chimney yet remained ; and the sickly herbage of the slope was 
not the produce of a virgin soil. Lynn stopped. Not a word 
was spoken, his eyes were too full of tender sadness; the man — 
not the artist, looked from them. 

10 * 


114 


ALONE. 


A lonely tree, and a desolate hearth-stone muttered he. 

< It is prophetic 

<< Is the spot known to you asked Ida, gently, as they rode 
on. 

<< It was my birth-place.” 

« I had forgotten said Charley. You were very young 
when you left it.” 

But I remember it. I could point out to you the Very place 
where my mother taught me to walk; — a grass-plat before the 
door : — she upon the step, my father kneeling at a short distance, 
and each tempting me to undertake the journey from one to the 
other. They are gone ! parents, brother, sisters ! there is but 
one puny scion of a noble line remaining !” 

Ida turned her face away. The sad story everywhere! Was 
there justice — there was not mercy — in thus rending away the 
sweetest comforts man can know, — while avarice, and pride and 
malevolence rioted in unharmed luxuriance. Earth was a cheat, 
and happiness a lie I 

This is a fine piece of road,” said Charley, « and we are 
jogging over it, like Quakers going to market. I say ! Art. !” 

^^Welll” answered his brother, who was some yards in 
advance. 

Don’t you think your Bosinante would be benefitted by a 
taste of the spur?” 

Oh 1 the delight of a sweeping gallop in the open country I the 
elate consciousness of strength and liberty, as the magnificent 
animal beneath you exerts every thew and sinew in obedience to 
your voice and hand ; you and he together forming one resistless 
power, free as the rushing air — able to overleap or bear down 
any obstacle ! The jocund tones wafted back by the breeze' 
attested the efficacy of Charley’s prescription. 

That bend hides ^the Castle;’” called out Arthur. 

I will be the first to see it !” exclaimed Carry, and as the 
turning was gained, she raised herself from the saddle. It was 
an unguarded moment ; — the hotse circled the bend in a run • 
and she was thrown directly in the road of the trampling hoofs 
behind. Charley’s horse fell back upon his haunches ; — there 
was giant might in the hand that reigned him ; — an inch nearer, 
and slie was lost! for his fore feet grazed her shoulder. 


ALONE. 115 

My dearest love cried the agitated Arthur, raising her in 
his arras. “Thank God ! you are not killed!’^ 

“ I am not hurt, dear Arthur I you are all so frightened ! it 
was very careless in me. Indeed I do not require support — I 
am not injured in the least!’' 

“ Are you sure questioned Ida, anxiously : “ or do you say 
it for our sakes 

“ I was never more free from pain. And I am able and ready 
to go on 

“You were her saviour 1" Arthur griped his brother’s hand, 
with a trembling lip. 

“ No thanks! I would not run down a cow or sheep if I could 
help it.” 

Arthur’s even temper was tried by this speech, and the more, 
that it wounded Carry. 

“ Coarse ! unfeeling !” thought Ida. She grudged him the 
eloquent affection of Lynn’s glance. “ I do not care to go fur- 
ther said she, when Carry was reseated. 

“ What ! turn back within sight of the Promised Land ?” said 
Carry. “ Do not cause me to feel that I have spoiled your after- 
noon’s pleasure ! Oscar and I will not part company again so 
unceremoniously, — will we, old fellow ? Allons ?” and she shook 
the reins gaily. The rest followed with reluctance, and for 
awhile, very soberly. The thought of what might have been 
the result of the accident, she treated so lightly, precluded jest, 
and they would not speak of it seriously. By tacit consent, it 
was not referred to again. Lynn recovered himself first ; he 
forgot everything but the fair domain they were entering; and 
his raptures awakened the others to its attractions. The house 
was a princely pile, rearing its towers from the midst of a finely- 
wooded park. The architecture was Gothic, and perfect in all 
its parts, even to the stained windows, imported, at an immense 
expense, from abroad. A village at the base of the hill, was 
peopled by the negroes, of whom there were more than an 
hundred connected with the plantation. The equestrians rode 
up the single street. Good humour and neatness characterised the 
simple inhabitants; children drew to one side of the road, with 
smiles and courtesies ; the aged raised their bleared eyes, to reply 
to the respectful salutations of the young riders ; through the 


116 


ALONE. 


open doors were seen clean, comfortably-furnished rooms; — in 
most, the tables were spread for the evening meal, and the busy 
housewives preparing for their husband’s return from field or 
forest. 

These are thy down-trodden children, 0 Africa said Ida, 
sarcastically. 

Lynn fired up. <<They are the happiest beings upon the 
globe.’' 

So far as animal wants are concerned," subjoined Arthur. 

I do not accept of that clause. They are happy ! They 
have a kind and generous master; every comfort in health; 
good nursing when ill; their church and Bible, and their 
Saviour, who is also ours. What the race may become, I do not 
pretend to say. These are far in advance of the original stock ; 
but their intellectual appetite is dull, and I dare affirm that in 
nine cases out of ten it is satified. I never knew a master who 
denied his Servants permission to read, and many have them 
taught by their own children. The slave lies down at night, 
every want supplied, his family as well cared for as himself; 
not a thought of to-morrow ! he is secure of a home and mainte- 
nance, without disturbing himself as to the manner in which it 
is to be obtained. Can the same be said of the menial classes in 
any other country under the sun ?" 

American as ever !’’ smiled Carry. 

<< And Virginian as ever ! The Old Dominion is my mother! 
he is not a loyal son who does not prefer her, with her infirmi- 
ties and foibles, to a dozen of the modern < fast ’ belle states. 
The dear old creature has a wrinkle or two that do not improve 
her comeliness, and adheres somewhat pertinaciously to certain 
obsolete ideas, but Heaven bless her! the heart is right and 
sound !" 

Ida’s eyes sparkled — 

“ ‘ Where is the coward would not dare 
To die for such a land !’ 

Is not this scenery English, Mr. Holmes ? We seldom see so 
large a tract, under as high cultivation, in this quarter of the 
globe; and where will we find another palace and park like 
that ?" 

<<Mr. Clinton intends to stock the park with deer," said 


ALONE. 117 

Arthur. That will bring before you yet more vividly the 
< Homes of Merry England.^ ” 

If an English landscape, it is an Italian light that gilds iV^ 
replied Lynn. << The highlands upon the other side of the river 
are Scottish ; and the tropical growth of the tobacco fields would 
not be out of place under the Equator.^ ^ 

Shocking your gleanings, then, you return to what Charley 
calls < the original proposition,^ and pronounce it American 
scenery,’^ concluded Arthur. 

“ Precisely. One need not go abroad in quest of natural 
beauties. The fairest are culled for his native land.’^ 

“ What a romantic creek ! that is English V’ exclaimed Ida. 

I have Gr. P. R. J ames for authority ; a rocky ford ; a steep 
bank on either side; tangled undergrowth — and actually, a 
rustic foot-bridge ! Oh ! for the solitary horseman f ' 

<< There he is I” ejaculated Charley, and from the hazel- 
boughs emerged an old negro, mounted upon a shaggy donkey, 
a bag of corn behind him. 

<< There is but a step, etc.,'^ said Ida, despairingly. « It is 
my fate always to take it.^^ 

With a hearty laugh, they wheeled their horses. Charley and 
Ida had the lead. Exhilarated by exercise and the scenes 
through which they had passed, and accustomed to chat fami- 
liarly with him, she ran on for some time without remai’king 
that she received monosyllabic replies. 

<< You are tired,^^ she observed. 

« Not at all.^' 

<< Out of humor, then 
<< Do I look soT* 

^‘Not when you smile; but you are not making yourself 
agreeable.^^ 

« I did not know that I had succeeded in doing so.^' 

« What ! when Mr. Holmes says you are the only man who is 
never otherwise I” 

He is partial. You can teach him better.^' 

The intimacy between you two mystifies me more and more. 
He is all fire and impulse ; you — ” 

<< A galvanised icicle! Do I freeze youf' 


118 


ALONE. 


« No. That is most wonderful of all. I am not afraid of you 
all — though I have a cowardly horror of being laughed at.” 

A ^ horror^ you should overcome , it proceeds from vanity. 
Like most of us, you are not apt to do or say things which you 
consider particularly silly ) and are offended that the public sees 
them in that light. Lynn is afflicted similarly, in a still greater 
degree. It will get him into trouble yet.” 

He is too independent to vacillate on account of ridicule,” 
said Ida. 

Men style the peevish resentment such dispositions exhibit, 

< honor j ” returned Charley, with a half bitter emphasis. It 
is one of the million misnomers with which they deceive them- 
selves.” 

« Among the number I may place my mistaking conceit for 
sensibility ?” 

^^And concealment of one’s feelings for f/isensibility,” he 
added. 

You misunderstood me, Mr. Dana. I do not think you 
have a heart of adamant — ” 

But that I have none,” he interrupted ; his kind glance 
blunting the edge of his words. << We shall understand each 
other better by and by. You spoke of James a while ago; do 
you like him ?” 

No. He has two defects which spoil everything he writes, 
at l^st to me — verbosity and affectation.” 

<< Not to mention self-plagiarism ; but that is a common fault. 
When an author has exhausted his capital, he had better sus- 
pend honorably and wait until he has funds in hands to recom- 
mence operations, than drag on, < shinning it,’ in mercantile 
phrase, until the reading world dishonors his notes. Instead of 
this, James, and a score more of our popular writers are palming 
off upon us, duplicates and re-duplicates of their earliest produc- 
tions. We encounter continually some old acquaintance in a 
different attire, and under an < alias.’ Warmed-over dinners are 
good enough in their place, but when we pay the same price, we 
have a right to be dainty. Dickens, himself, is not free from 
this charge,” 

<< Oh ! do not say sol I will not hear a word against him. 
He says much that seems irrelevant, and occasionally a thiug 


ALONE. 


110 


that is provokingly absurd ; but it is grand to see how, in the 
denouement, he catches up these floating, apparently usless 
threads, and weaves them into the fabric. He works with less 
waste than any light author of the day ; all is smooth and firm ; 
no ragged edges or dropped stitches. And if his charming crea- 
tions are set- before us more than once, they can well bear a 
renewal of acquaintanceship.'^ 

« But not in a disguise which is less becoming than the dress 
in which we first knew them. When we cry < encore,' we ask 
for a repetition, not an imitation — too often a burlesque." 

<< But," persisted Ida, warm in defence of her favorite Boz, 

where shall we discover new. phases of human nature ? The 
fault is that so many men are copies of others ; we must not 
censure the painter for lack of originality, who writes above his 
sketches, < taken from life.' Who ever reads a new love story ? 
and love is not the only passion which is the same the world 
over." 

Charley leaned forward to brush a fly from his horse's ear. 

« Are there no peculiarities in your lot ?" he inquired. 

« Perhaps so," she replied, startled by the home-thrust. 

<< Your character is not the reflected image of another’s; you 
have never seen one who felt, thought, and acted exactly as you 
do ; or who would have been your prototype, had your outward 
circumstances been alike. The Great Original is not a servile 
copyist." 

The sun's rim was below the horizon, as they passed Lynn's 
birth-place ; but a parting ray shot through the western gap upon 
the knoll — the solitary bright spot in the landscape. They went 
rapidly by ; but Ida was grateful that his recollection of it should 
be linked with that fragrant eve, and gleaming farewell smile. 

It is singular that in our rides we should not have taken 
this road before," said Charley. It is, just here, a mere bridle 
path, but I thought we had scoured the country." 

« Did you know Mr. Holmes when he lived there ?" 

« No. He was fourteen years old when we met at school." 

The homestead is a pitiable wreck," continued Ida. < A 
lonely tree and a desolated hearth !' he said. Those mournful 
words will haunt me." 

His is a sad story. His parents died within a month of 


120 


ALONE. 


each other — one by the hand of violence, the other of a broken 
heart. He had lost a sister previously ; a year later his brother 
went to sea, and ship nor passengers reached the port. It is 
now three years since the death of a younger sister, a lovely girl, 
of consumption. This train of misfortunes hangs upon Lynnes 
mind and heart. He will have it that he belongs- to a doomed 
race. But for his warm social sympathies, and devotion to his 
art, the superstition would become a monomania.^' 

<< You say his father died by violence ; was he murdered?^' 

In cold blood. 

<< Horrible ! And the assassin T* 

Walks the earth, an honourable man ! The sword of justice 
has no point for the duellist.^' 

<^This heathenish practice is a disgraceful stain upon the 
escutcheon of our State,^^ said Ida. The laws are not in fault ; 
popular prejudice does not sustain them.'^ 

“If they would make me autocrat for one year I would 
pledge myself to abolish this system of double murdering,^ ^ 
returned he. 

“ How 

“ Hang the survivor — ” 

“ What naughty words are you saying questioned Lynn, 
from Ida^s elbow. 

“ A slip of the tongue, which Miss Ida would not have noticed, 
but for your ofl&ciousness,^^ answered Charley. “ Did I tell you 
of Art.'s professional call last night ? We were awakened by 
an uproarious halooing at the gate. 

“ < Who’s there ?’ hailed Arthur. 

^ 0 doctor ! for massy’s sake, come to see my old woman ! 
she’s dyin’ — I’m Jeemes Stiger — make haste — I reckon she’s 
most done dead by this time;’ and the poor fellow blubbered 
out. 

“ < I’ll be there in a minute,’ said Art. < Don’t wait.’ 

“ In three minutes and a half his horse’s hoofs were clattering 
down the road, as though Tam O’Shanter’s witch were upon the 
crupper. I had confidence in his skill, and did not doubt he 
would try whatever could relieve <Mrs. Jeemes Stiger,’ but it was 
a ticklish case ; the entire contents of his saddle-bags could not 
rescue her from the jaws of death, if he had indeed clamped her. 


ALONE. 


121 


I had resolved to postpone compassion for the bereaved husband, 
to the morning, and was forgetting everything in a doze, when 
the trampling of a horse aroused me. I threw up the window. 
It was Art., in as hot haste as when he set o,ut. < What is to 
pay r said I, as he came in. < Forgotten any thing — or is the 
woman dead?’ 

<< < Confound her !’ 

<< I knew he must be pretty ‘ tall’ to say that. 

“ < Never be a doctor, Charley.’ 

<< ‘ I wont, my dear boy ; but what is the matter?’ 

<<‘Why nothing — just nothing!’ beginning to laugh. 
galloped two miles like a race-rider, and ran into the house, 
expecting a scene of distress — perhaps of death. < Mrs. Jeemes’ 
was sitting up, rocking herself back and forth. I felt her pulse 
and inquired her symptoms.’ 

^ You see,’ stuttered Stiger, ^ she’s been sort o’ poorly and 
droopy for three weeks, and better. I’ve been ’lotting to go for 
you, but thought maybe she mought be able to pick up after 
awhile. To-night I was so hungry myself that I didn’t notice 
her at supper. She was mighty poking all the evenin’, and jest 
now, she waked me. < Jeemes,’ says she, < when folks’ appetites 
gives out, they dies — don’t they ?’ 

^ Yes, honey,’ says I. 

<^‘Then farewell,’ says she; <I’m a-goin’. I wouldn’t say 
nothin’ about it at first, but I couldn’t die without tellin’ you I 
was a-departin’.’ 

<< ‘ 0, Susan !’ says I; ^ how come you to think you are dyin’.’ 

i Jeemes,’ says she, solemn as could be ; < I couldn’t eat no 
supper, ’cept one herring and a pone of bread, and one cup of 
coffee.’ / 

Doctor! you think she’ll live ’till day? Oh ! if I had' 
a-gone for you three weeks ago !’ ”* 

« ‘ When shall we all meet again ?’ ” 

said Lynn that night, at the hour for separation. 

At Christmas, probably — next summer, certainly,” replied 
Arthur’s cheerful voice. 

We have been too happy together to hope for a repetition 
* Fact. 

H 


122 


ALONE. 


of the pleasure/’ said Ida. <^Two such summers would be 
more than falls to the share of most mortals.” 

If we never meet again in this life, we shall see each other 
somewhere at the end of the turnpike,” observed Charley. 

Sad as were the feelings of the little company, they smiled at 
his tone and action. 

<< Hush, Charley ! I am petitioning Ida for a song,” said 
Carry. One of your own, my dear. We like no other so 
well. Just one more, that I may fancy I hear whenever I enter 
this room.” 

“A parting lay from our Improvisatrice,” entreated Dr. 
Carleton. 

Her voice was uncertain and low, but she sang the simple 
ballad with a pathos, that brought the moisture to the eyes of 
more than one of her auditors. 

“Away with thoughts of sadness, level 
I will be gay to-night ! 

I would awhile indulge the hopes. 

To-morrow’s sun will blight. 

Oh ! once again, our favorite songs, 

Together let us sing; 

And thus forget the wailing strain 
To-morrow’s strain will bring. 

‘ - Away with thoughts of sadness, lovc I 

I must be gay to-night ! 

“Alas ! ’tis vain ! we who have loved 
So long and well, must part ! 

The smile has faded from my cheek 
^ The gladness from my heart. 

^ And since at this, our sad farewell. 

For months, perchance, for years. 

We cannot join in blithesome lay. 

Oh ! let us mingle tears ! 

Away with thoughts of gladness, lov« I 
For I must weep to-night I” 



ALONE. 


123 


CHAPTEK XI. 

very louely now, Carry! and weary, and wakeful and 
home-sick. You and your home have spoiled me; my heart has 
been enlarged, only to aggravate the old empty feeling; you 
have disabled me for the life I must lead here. < Discouraged 
already I’ I hear you say. ^ Did you not promise to be good and 
patient?^ I am not like you, I cannot love, unless I am beloved; 
and had I your warm, open heart, it would be but attempting to 
heat Nova Zembla with a foot-stove. Hear, before you reproach. 
Our journey was pleasant. The children behaved k merv4ille; 
your sister was — as she always is — tender and motherly, (you 
know what that last means from me I) and the conduct of our 
gallant outriders was above praise. Leaving Mrs. Dana at her 
door, Lynn and Charley escorted me up-town. With their 
‘good nights,^ and promises to see me again soon, connection 
with Poplar-grove was severed. My former self — I told you 
how it would be ! — was waiting for me inside the hall-door. I 
was as little changed in the eyes of Mr. Read and his daughter, 
as they were in mine. The first-named was upon his etiquette 
stilts; and Josephine’s fingers, as I touched them, were as limp 
and warm as the digits of a frozen frog. (Vide Charley.) I 
remembered you and my promise, and made a tremendous effort. 

‘ You are looking so well, that I will not inquire whether your 
trip was as delightful as you anticipated ;’ to the daughter. 

“ ‘We spent our time agreeably;’ dryly. 

c( f Were the waters of Saratoga beneficial to you, sir?’ to the 
father. 

“‘My health required no improvement;’ stifl3y, and with a 
smack of offended dignity. But this is wrong, Carry ! The air 
of this house must warp my sense of right. While under their 
roof, I should not ridicule them. There was pleasure in the sad- 
ness of last night — last night ! it seems a century since I There 
is no bright thread in the sombre web I am weaving now ! I 
look forward with a sinking spirit. This winter will bring me 
trials which you may not appreciate. Josephine and myself 


124 


ALONE. 


will ever remain antagonistic ; — not that I am quarrelsome ; I 
detest strife. I am sick of this eternal sparring and heart- 
burning ^ but I am no dissembler; and I foresee many contests; 
perhaps as many defeats, for cool audacity is more than a match 
for hot blood like mine. Our characters will come into play 
upon a wider stage than heretofore, and should we close in com- 
bat there, the struggle will be fearful. I am willing, — thanks 
to you ! — to sacrifice prejudice, — not principle or self-respect. 
Three long, dreary months before I can hope to see you ! I 
fear to think how wicked I may become in that time. Rich- 
mond is, to me, a Sahara, whose single fountain of sweet waters 
springs up within your sister's home. Those, who, within a few 
months, were unknown, are nearer than acquaintances of years' 
standing. Poor Rachel stands by, waiting to undress me, her 
face as Jong as mine. < Ah ! Miss Ida ! this ain't Dr. Carleton's !' 
She docs not realise how painfully conscious I am of that fact. 
I can hardly say why I have written this incoherent note; 
except, that I am dispirited, and thirst to talk to you. Forgive 
my unhappy egotism ! I cannot ask you to respond to emotions 
which never swell your gentle bosom. To your best of fathers, 
present my warmest regards. I owe him a debt I cannot repay. 
And to him, dear Carry, whose image blends with yours, in my 
dreams of the future ; the only man I know, to whom I could 
willingly resign you, give a sister’s love. The strongest proof 
of my affection is, that I am not jealous. Good night ! and a 
blessing, my dearest ! If your rest will be the sweeter for know- 
ing that to another, than him, you make life lovely, believe it I 

As ever, yours, 

Ida." 

I saw Mr. -<Lacy upon the street, to-day," remarked Mr. 
Read, the next evening at supper. 

^<Ah!" said Josephine, delightedly. << Did you speak with 
him ?" 

<< Yes ; he stopped me to apologise for having delayed calling 
until this time. He is studying law with Mr. L., and has little 
leisure for visiting — so he says." 

‘‘ Did you inquire after his sister’s health ?" 

No. You had better do so, if he calls this evening. He 
asked whether you would be at home." 


ALONE. 


125 


Josephine coloured with pleasure; and Ida was curious to see 
one who had inspired them with such respect and admiration; 
for through Mr. Read's assumed carelessness, it was easy to 
discover that he was flattered by the promised visit. She 
gathered from their conversation that they had met Mr. Lacy 
at the Springs, whither he had gone with an invalid sister. As 
Virginians, they attached themselves to the Read party, — 
party of the season," so Josephine unblushingly asserted. 

Too proud to go into the drawing-room, without an invitation, 
Ida went to her chamber, to spend the hours between supper and 
bed-time, in reading. 

Miss Josephine must 'spect her beau; she's mightily fined 
oflP," commented Rachel, when she came up from her meal. I 
said so! thar's the door-bell I Ain’t you going down, Miss 
Ida?" 

^^No;" — not withdrawing her eyes from her book. 

You aint a school-girl now. Miss Ida," Rachael remon- 
strated. 

Well — and if I am not?” 

<< Why, young ladies ought to see company. I can't bear for 
you to be hiding up here, just like you was an ediot or jperformed ; 
and Miss Josephine, who aint nigh so pretty, nor good, for that 
matter, is stealing all the beaux." 

In other words, my good Rachel, you want me to get 
married." 

<< Yes ma'am," said Rachel boldly; ^^If you come across any 
body to suit you. I’d a heap rather you’d be his. wife, than to 
stay here to be pecked at and worried." 

I am not easily worried ; I am my own mistress, and 
restrained by no one." 

Your own mistis'. Miss Ida I Don't I see you sittin' at 
table, and in the parlor, never opening your mouth to say 
nothin’; and aint you cooped up here in this chamber, because 
Miss Josephine aint got politeness enough to ask you down? 
and after they’ve been making as much of you at Dr. Carleton’s 
as if you had been the Queen of Sheby ! Miss Carry is a lady 
worth talking about, and so is Miss Jenny — none of your turned 
up nose, poor white folksy sort. I wish you could get into the 
fam’ly,” she added, slyly. 


11 * 


126 


ALONE. 


Ida read on in silence. 

The bell agin I” muttered Kachel, fretfully. I don’t know 
what they’re coming for. If they knowed as much as we ser- 
vants, they’d as soon jam their fingers into a steel-trap. What 
do you want ?” she said, snappishly to the footman who knocked 
at the door. 

Two gentlemen to see Miss Ross — Mr. Dana and Mr. 
Holmes.” 

ITl tell her;” she returned, greatly molified. ^‘Now, Miss 
Ida, don’t scare them oflF with no solemn looks and talk. Do 
just like you did at Miss Carry’s; and ’bove all things, don’t 
let Miss Josephine cut you out !” 

We trust to the reader’s good-nature to excuse the unfair use 
which Rachel made of the back parlor window. The affection- 
ate curiosity that prompted her to peep at Miss Ida, as she 
made her manners,” was gratified by seeing her receive her visi- 
tors with as much affability as if Carry, instead of Miss Read, 
were present. As Rachel surmised, the latter had a beau; and 
Ida’s hasty survey excited a feeling of surprise. He looked and 
moved the gentleman ; but although he arose with the others, 
and remained standing, Josephine did not introduce him. 

Charley’s presence of mind prevented embarrassment. 

I beg pardon, Morton ; I thought you knew Miss Ross — 
Miss Ida, my friend, Mr. Lacy.” 

This assumption of the duties of host at first call would have 
been inexcusable in most cases. Josephine understood it, as it 
was meant, as a severe rebuke for her negligence or ill-breeding. 

The my friend,” too, nettled her. Mr. Lacy had presented 
the gentlemen to her when they came in, and had spoken to 
Charley as an old acquaintance, but what right had this stranger 
to insinuate, that, as his friend, Ida had a title to her “ pro- 
perty ?” She almost forgave him, however, when she found that, 
for the present, he was not disposed to push his advantage. He 
left her to the most delightful tete-k-tgte ; turned his back quite 
upon her, and addressed himself to Ida. She would have 
pocketed a dozen insults an evening to sit upon the same sofa with 
Morton Lacy, to read devotion in his speaking eyes, and hear 
love’s music in every cadence of his voice. She was in Elysium 
—with but one drawback upon her felicity. The group across 


ALONE. 


127 


the room were maliciously unobservant of the tableau — her high- 
born looking suitor, so lover-like as he bent his proud head to 
catch the words that melted likS-Mioney-dew upon her lips; and 
herself — with falling lids, as though she feared he might see more 
in the modest eyes than maiden coyness would have him know — 
they must notice them, and seeing, Ida must be expiring with 
envy, and the gentlemen regret, while they envied, that they 
were too late to compete for the prize. It is not often that the 
truth is as sweet as the darling fictions we dream to ourselves, 
and on this occasion, assuredly, the reality would have rendered 
wormwood palatable in comparison ; for the trio of friends were 
unaffectedly engrossed with each other, and stupidly ignorant of 
the duett played near them. 

“ Jenny sent her love to you,” said Charley ; she will call 
shortly. She complains of being tired out with the labor of rec- 
tifying the disorders of John’s bachelor establishment. She 
treated us, at tea, to a summary of his domestic economy. 
Half of the time, he forgot to go to market, and wondered at 
the want of variety in the fare. The cook was consulted, and 
hinted at the cause. The ensuing day, he laid in provisions for 
a week, particularly of such commodities as frugal housewives 
do not care to have on hand in hot weather. He bought a pair 
of parlor lamps. You wished to surprise me by this handsome 
present, I suppose,’ said Jenny. 

‘ Why no — I should not have purchased them if the old 
ones had not been worn out,’ said he. 

<< < Worn out ! when we have not had ihem six months !’ 

^ Yes !’ answered he, positively. ‘ They would not burn — 
went out as fast as I lighted them ; and worse than- that, the 

new ones have got into the same way. I complained to W , 

and he said they were the best he had.’ 

utVery odd!’ said Jenny, unscrewing one of the lamps. 
< Why, Mr. Dana ! there is no oil in it ! Have they been filled 
regularly ?’ 

‘ Never thought of it once !’ exclaimed John, foolishly. 

See how useless marrying makes a man 1 

Rather, how comfortless he is without a wife;” responded 
Ida. <‘As respects order and management in household mat- 
ters, I have an idea that you bachelors are not much superior to 
the Tartars.” 


128 


ALONE. 


Say on a par with the Hottentots, and you will be nearer 
the truth said Lynn. Nothing can be well-done that is 
unnatural. Not one man in^jM*tidred has a talent for house- 
keeping; some acquire a smattering of the science, and make 
themselves ridiculous by an offensive display of it. Their wives 
should rig them in kitchen aprons, set them to rolling out pie- 
crust, and officiate as their substitutes in the shop, office, or 
counting-room. There is a loud hue and cry after < strong- 
minded women ’/ who says any thing about weak-minded men?^^ 
You do not consider that the feebler intellect belongs of 
necessity, to the feebler body, do you T’ asked Charley. 

‘‘ Not I ! Do away with this absurd antipathy to clever 
women ; give them our advantages of education, and they will 
outshine us mentally, as they do morally. The mind of a woman 
is a wonderful thing; like the scimetar of Saladin, it cuts 
through, at a single stroke what our clumsy blades have hacked 
at in vain. Light, graceful, delicate — it does not lack power 
because it has beauty.^^ 

(( It is very pleasant to listen to agreeable speeches, even 
when we know them to be flattery, said Ida ; I acquit you of 
insincerity, Mr. Holmes — I perceive that Mr. Dana sides with 
you — but permit me to say, that I know more of the mental 
calibre of my sex than either of you. To a certain point, we 
can rival you successfully — like the hare and tortoise — we run 
well for a time, and laugh at your plodding ; but we have not 
the taste or ability to bear you company to the goal. As well 
compare the bounding flight of the lark to the heaven-ward sweep 
of the eagle. We cannot reason — we are persuaded because we 
feel that a truth exists — for our lives, we could not tell you why 
we believe.^^ 

« And this is an argument to establish your inferiority V* 
exclaimed Lynn. “ Where is the use of reasoning ? I would 
trust a true woman’s intuition in preference to all the systems 
of logic and induction, the blundering, lumbering brain of man 
has built. Do not depreciate this angelic faculty. Miss Ida ; you 
hold it in common with higher intelligences.” 

Yes ! — I doubt if Gabriel bothers his head with syllogisms or 
logarithms,” said Charley. Two to one — Miss Ida — give up!” 
Men arc inconsistent creatures,” said she. « They will have 


alone. 


123 


it we are their superiors, — exhaust dictionaries and their imagi- 
nations to load us with exalted epithets^ and behave, as though 
we were children, to be coaxed with sugar-plums. An angel in 
theory, the corporeal woman is soundly rated if dinner is late, 
or a room unswept. We are < akin to higher intelligences,^ — 
but let one presume to measure lances with a lord of creation in 
a conflict of minds, and how quickly is she assailed by the hoots 
of her professed adorers ! You will allege that she has stepped 
out of her sphere. Granted — but according to your belief, she 
has stooped to your level, and you should be grateful for the 
grace. Is it so ? ‘ The ladith are divine, tho long ath they 

don’t meddle with thubjects above their comprehenthion lisps 
the dandy whose organs of speech serve to distinguish him from 
a marmoset; — and wise doctors of law and medicine and divinity, 
read us homilies upon the modesty, the humility, the submis- 
siveness of the softer sex, and recommend St. Paul to our dili- 
gent perusal. We are not cherubim, — nor yet slaves;— not your 
superiors ; and in mind are far from being your equals ; but we 
do hold that we are, or ought to be qualified for your companions ; 
and that your happiness and ours would be enhanced if you 
would th^ow sentimental nonsense overboard, and take this prac- 
tical, every day view of the case.” 

“ Let a lady alone for making her side good !” said Charley. 

We’ll call it square, and quit — which Lynn will inform you, 
is a cowardly way of acknowledging ourselves beaten. I never 
argued with one of you yet, that I was not glad to sneak oflT in 
five minutes after the first broadside.” 

<< Their right makes their might ;” observed Lynn, gallantly. 

<< And their invincible obstinacy,” returned Charley. That 
is not just the word — it is a certain never-give-up-able-ness, 
vexatiously delightful, which precipitates one into a rage and 
love, at the same time — he is divided between his disposition to 
kneel to, and to shoot her !” 

« Are you tempted to murder me ?” inquired Ida. 

<< Not at all. It is a peculiarity in the female disposition,— 
she can’t help it — to cry ‘ scissors’ to the last.” 

« I do not comprehend.” 

<<Did you never hear the ^ tailor’s wife and scissors ?” ' 

<< A story of your own coinage ?” asked Lynn. 


130 


ALONE. 


No — an authentic narrative. A tailor having amassed a 
fortune by his trade, cut the shop and removed to the country, 
to live in dignified leisure. His wife was a bit of a shrew, and 
apt, as all wifes are, — to find out her husband’s weak points. 
One of these was a shame of his former occupation, and she 
harped upon the jarring string, until the poor wretch was nearly 
beside himself. Her touch-word, < scissors,’ spoiled his finest 
bon mots, and embittered his grandest entertainment — it was 
flame to tow. He stormed and wheedled, threatened and bribed^; 
the obnoxious instrument was constantly brandished before his 
eyes. They were walking, one day, on the bank of a river, 
bounding his grounds, — < I have displayed extraordinary taste 
in the selection of this estate,’ remarked he, < Its owner should 
have judgment, as well as wealth. You observe the Delta formed 
by the fork of the river. Its beauty decided me to close the 
contract.’ 

<< Very probable, my dear, — it reminds one so much of an 
open pair of scissors !’ 

One push — and she was struggling in the water. 

^ I will pull you out, if you promise never to say that word 
again !’ halloed the still foaming husband. 

^ Scissors !’ screeched she, and down she went. * 

< Scissors !’ as she arose again. The third time, she came 
to the surface, too far gone to speak — but as the waters closed 
over her, she threw up her arms, crossing her fore fingers — thus 
— and disappeared.” 

Ida laughed — her rich, musical laugh, which awoke strange 
echoes in those formal rooms. Mr. Read’s portrait frowned down 
from its niche, and Josephine raised her brows with an air of 
astonishment, which would have been contempt, had she not 
been upon the amiable at the time. Another started too, but 
with a difierent expression. Few who saw Morton Lacy smile, 
forgot it. It was not a superficial illumination, but a flashing 
through of an inward light, as might play upon the surface of a 
gem-bedded stream, could the sun strike upon its concealed 
wealth. 

We seldom hear a sound like that, in this age of affectation 
said he, to Josephine. 

She will learn better;” she replied. She is just from her 


ALO N E . 


131 


books, and rather eccentric in some of her ways and notions. I 
rally her daily upon her little oddities, but she is wilful, as 
spoiled children will be, — and being older, and more clever than 
myself, out-argues me. The main point of disagreement is that 
she is fond of liberty of speech and action, declares Die Vernon 
her beau ideal of a woman, and I am prudish in my reserve.’^ 
Not prudish — feminine I'' he answered, emphatically. << Is 
she a relative V* 

<< No ; a ward of my father’s.^^ 

An orphan with a remorseful pity, for which Josephine 
could have blasted Ida as she sat. 

“ She does not feel her situation so keenly as a sensitive person 
would. Those are happiest whose wounds heal soonest, — to 
whom a life-time of grief is unknown. I am thankful that Ida’s 
temperament is mercurial — she is spared much suffering and 
her voice trembled admirably, as she lifted her eyes to a portrait 
above the mantel. Another adroit hit ! the base brought out 
the ring of the genuine metal. 

<< There are, indeed, losses, which, in an earthly sense, are 
irreparable, and although I know nothing personally of such a 
bereavement, I can understand that the shadow of a mother’s 
tomb grows darker and longer, as the child walks on in the path 
her care would have smoothed.” 

Especially to an orphaned girl; each day has wants and 
exigencies she had not thought of before. Yet who knows the 
pains of her lot?” said Josephine, sighing. 

" * Few are the hearts whence one same touch, 

Bids the sweet fountains flow !' ” 

repeated Mr. Lacy. Have you learned that song, according 
to promise ?” 

<< I always keep my promises.” 

<< May I demand the proof that this one was remembered.” 

The piece in question lay suspiciously near the top of the 
portfolio, although she protested that she had << only played it 
over once, and a fortnight ago.” 

It is set as a duett; will not your friend sing with you?” 

<< I don’t know;” shaking her head, smilingly. She is chary 
of her favors — all good singers are. Perhaps she will not refuse 
you — ask her, please ! It will be such an improvement !” 


132 


ALONE. 


Thus importuned, Mr. Lacy went up to Ida, and preferred his 
request. 

<< Excuse “me, sir, I am not familiar with the music f” said 
she, surprised that Josephine had despatched him upon such an 
embassy, when her jealousy of Ida’s superiority as a vocalist, 
had been the cause of innumerable slights and petty meannesses 
from herself and father. 

<< Now ! be obliging, Ida !” she interposed, « you sing at sight 
better than I do, after a year’s practising.” 

<^I am sorry to appear disobliging, Mr. Lacy;” pursued Ida; 
and she spoke sincerely, as she met his smile ; but you would 
not thank me for ruining your song.” 

<< Oh ! how can you say so !” exclaimed Josephine. Mr. 
Dermott call you a second Malibran ; or was it Sappho ?” 

To Mr. Lacy, this was coaxingly playful ; but the fiery spot 
came to Ida’s cheek, at words, which had been piped over, and 
distorted, until malice itself must be weary of repeating them. 

I beg you to consider my refusal as final and positive;” she 
said, haughtily. Mr. Lacy bowed, with dignity, and returned 
to Josephine. 

Am I, also, to be refused ?” asked Lynn, as Josephine 
picked out a third song. You will not suspect me of empty 
compliments.” 

Not for you, will I sing now and here!” said Ida. Be 
sure I have my reasons for objecting to give you pleasure.” 

Be quiet, Linn ! she means what she says ;” interrupted 
Charley, as his friend persisted. Lynn obeyed, but his black 
eyes went from the face of the speaker, to Ida’s compressed lips, 
until they darted an angry light upon Josephine, showing that 
he had an inkling of the truth. 

This is the beginning!” said Ida, as she knelt at her window 
to gain tranquillity from the cool and stillness of the night. The 
moon neared the horizon ; the roof-tops contrasted brightly with 
the shade of the street ; and one lofty spire pointed a snowy 
finger upward, the golden trumpet upon its taper extremity 
silvered by its pale r^ys. It was a << sweet south” that bore up 
the lullaby our beautiful river sings nightly to our myriads of 
sleeping children; but as the girl gazed and listened, inquietude, 
instead of peace, had possession of her — the nameless longing 


ALON E. 


133 


that makes mortals weep and strive, and die ! that burning 
craving for something — they cannot tell what — except that 
earth does not bestow it, and the spirit will not rest without it. 
It may be, angel-teachers are with us, awakening a desire for, 
rather than imparting knowledge, which is their food, and can 
alone satisfy our immortal minds — or our young souls are flut- 
tering their unfledged wings, restless for the flight, instinct 
tells them is before them — we know not — only that the thirst 
is fierce — maddening ! and there is but one fountain which 
quenches it. The river’s song should have summoned up the 
vision of those living waters, and their wooing, << Let him that 
is athirst come !” and the white spire — had its silent gesture no 
significance ? 

Ida’s thoughts did not rise. A painful truth had that night 
obtruded itself upon her, that the love of those she esteemed 
most, had not strengthened her to bear the trials incident to 
her position. With Carry at her side, to defend and console’ 
many a shaft would have fallen harmless, perchance, unre- 
marked; in her absence, the certainty of her aflcction did 
not render Josephine’s malevolence innocuous, or her society 
endurable. 

I was not born for this life ! I do not breathe in the pent- 
house in which they would immure my soul. I cannot escape ! 
I am virtually a prisoner in body and spirit — with energies, 
which must not act — affections, which must not flow ! I thirst 
for liberty and love !” 

Lower and lower dipped the moon — and higher mounted the 
shade upon the steeple — the golden trumpet was glistenless as 
the rest, and the stars only kept guard over the slumbering city, 
and the watcher knelt still — dreaming now love-dreams of appre- 
ciation and devotion— trances, almost realities in their passionate 
idealization ; and then, as they cloyed by their very sweetness — 
or the real and the present would burst upon her, crying in 
anguished accents, << I thirst !’^ 

12 


134 


ALONE. 


CHAPTER XII. 

Josephine Read gave a party — her first, and the first of 
the season ; an onerous undertaking for a young, and compara- 
tively inexperienced house-keeper ; but she went about it bravely 
and confidently. She did not overrate her capacity ; if she had a 
talent for anything, it was for housewifery — driving” included. 
If her domestic machinery did not work well, it was not for lack 
of scolding; and, it was rumored, not because more stringent 
measures were not employed by her own fair hands. 

Miss Josephine flies about the kitchen like a pea^pon srhot 
shovel said Rachel, the day before that for which the rest of 
the week was made. It’s ’sprising how much spring she‘s ’got 
m that little body of hern, and how much spite too, if you’ll 
’low me to say it. Miss Ida.” 

<< I certainly shall not,” said Ida, severely. << I do not care 
to hear your remarks upon her now, or at any time. They are 
neither respectful or becoming.” 

« Law ! Miss Ida ! you know Miss Josephine as well as I do ; 
what harm does my talking do ? I was goin’ to tell you, that I 
thought I should a’ died laughin’ to see how mad she was, when 
J oe dropped the big cake she sent to the confectionaries to have 
iced. Her face turned red as them curtains, and soop as she 
could move, she pulled off her shoe, and gave him such a lick 
’pon the side of his head. I’ll bound he seed stars 1” 

Are your preparations concluded ?” asked Mr. Read, that 
night. 

I believe so, sir.” 

<«<You believe so !’ why can’t you give a direct answer? I 
hate this mincing you women think so pretty. Are you ready 1” 

<^The table is not set,” said Josephine, provokingly, «and 
the jellies and creams are not turned into the dishes yet.” 

« What will this tomfoolery cost?” harked her father. 

« I don’t know, sir — what other people’s parties do.” 

You are wonderfully independent, young woman ! you intend 
to foot the bills I hope.” 


ALONE. 


135 


No answer, except a bar of a popular air, hummed, while 
trying on a head-dress. 

Whom have you invited T* 

<< There is the list — you can read it.^^ 

He looked at it surlily. How many rooms do you open 
<< The parlors and dining room ; — unless you prefer to have 
the dressing-rooms in the third story, and give up yoifr chamber 
to the dancers.^ ^ 

<< Have the goodness to leave me out of the scrape. I shall 
go to bed directly after supper. You two may do your husband 
hunting without my help. 1 pity the man who gets either of 
you.” 

Since you are so much opposed to this party, I will recall 
my invitations to-morrow morning,” retorted J osephine, irritated 
by his peevish vulgarity, to take a high stand herself. 

You will noi, Miss ! Carry out what you have commenced 
— much joy may you have of it !” 

What pleasure or benefit could arise from this snarling con- 
tradiction, would have defied a wiser brain than Ida’s to deter- 
mine. She once imagined it a part of Mr. Eead’s schooling ; 
that he sought to inure his pupil to the treatment she would 
receive from the world ; but this impression was corrected by 
observing that the effrontery he had taught her angered him 
beyond measure, when exhibited towards himself. Variance 
appeared to be necessary to their existence ; a safety-valve for 
the ill humors they could not throw out upon others. It was a 
curious fact that their going into company, at home or abroad, 
was invaribly preceded by this moral phlebotomizing, and in 
proportion to the extent of the depletion, was the subsequent 
affability. It was therefore to be expected that they should 
appear in the drawing-room on the evening of the party, looking 
their best; — she, deferentially respectful to ^^Papa,” and he, 
marking my daughter, sir’s,” motions with paternal pride. A 
large party usually belongs to one of two classes — the stiffly 
regular, or the noisily irregular. At the former, there is con- 
siderably less sociability and ease than is prevalent among a 
corps of raw recruits upon parade, under the eye of a martinet 
drilled serjeant. As many as can obtain seats, seize them; a 
vacant chair is rushed for, as in the game of budge-all,” and 


136 


ALONE. 


the hapless standers are awkwardly alive to the circumstance of 
being, not men, but hands, legs and feet ; white kid gloves are 
at a premium, a bouquet is a godsend ; — the pulling oflF and on 
of the first, and the criticism of the latter, are engrossing subjects 
of reflection and entertainment. There are knots of men in the 
entry, and in the corners, and behind doors ; and rows of ladies 
against the wall, and stretched out transversely and longitudinally 
through the room. Supper over, watches are slyly consulted, 
yawns dexterously swallowed, and presently the crowd is thinner, 
though no one goes. Then come whispered adeaux ; — << so sorry 
to quit your charming party at this early hour, — but papa 
charged me to be home by twelve, and he is so particular and 
my dear Mrs. Heavyaslead, I must tear myself away — mamma 
was not well to-night j lam quite uneasy about W/’ — and 
there are headaches and sideaches, and toothaches, until the 
poor hostess wonders that she never suspected before what an 
unhealthy circle of acquaintances she has. 

At a gathering of the second class, everybody knows every- 
body else, or gets acquainted off-hand, with or without an 
introduction. The company are, to a man, in favor of a stand- 
ing army. Except a small number of chairs, over which are 
carefully trained the confirmed wall-flowers, seats are voted in 
the way; — each joke is capital; — each laugh a scream. Girls 
rattle and coquet, and gentlemen bow and flatter; you stumble 
upon a flirtation at every step, and cannot tread upon a boot or 
corn without cutting a gallant speech in the middle ; time pieces 
are put back two or three hours, and ostentatiously showed 
around, to prove that there is time enough yet.^' Morning 
breaks, ere the revellers unwillingly depart, and Mr. and Mrs. 
Cricketspry hear, for six months after, of the splendid time we 
had at your party.^' 

Miss Read's soiree promised to be of the first-named order. — 
A large proportion of her guests were strangers to each other, 
and she had not the tact to amalgamate the mixture. A hostess 
must be impartial ; the safest course is to ignore the object of 
her preference, even at the risk of being misunderstood ; better 
offend one, than an hundred. Josephine made no such heroic 
sacrifice. She had invited Mr. Lacy ; the rest were there to 
see, and they were not backward to discern this. She had twice 


ALONE. 


13T 


made the circuit of the rooms upon his arm, and stood for half 
an hour between the folding-doors, in conversation, that, so far 
as her efforts went, was confidential, when her father touched 
her shoulder. << Are we to have no dancing, J osey 

<< If my friends desire it — certainly! Mr. Pemberton’^ — as 
that individual frisked by, — Do me the favor to act as master 
of ceremonies, and form a set.^^ 

<< With pleasure. Miss Josephine, provided I am honored by 
your hand — for the dance — I mean j” tickled to excess by his 
witty clause. 

The hateful puppy! but there was no retreat. Had Mr. Lacy 
been out of earshot, she would have pleaded an engagement, so 
certain was she that he would ask her, but she could not utter so 
palpable a falsehood in his hearing. She did hope that he would 
interfere, and with the inimitable self-possession which distin- 
guished him, open an avenue of escape by implying, if not 
asserting his right of priority ; but he was silent, and she yielded 
an ungracious assent. Mr. Pemberton was a boasted adept in 
the art of cutting out’’ — a system of counter-plotting, too well 
understood to need explanation here ; and as he bustled around, 
ofScious and fussy, he circulated, as the latest and best joke,” an 
account of his cunning in “ heading off that chap, Lacy.” 

Are you fond of this amusement ?” inquired the latter of 
Josephine. 

Passionately !” said she, brightening up at this, as she 
thought, prefatory remark. The next was still more promising. 
<< You will not stop at a single set then ?” 

Oh, no ! I often keep the floor for hours. It is a health- 
ful and innocent exercise. I had rather dance than spend the 
evening in gossiping after the fashion of the strait-laced sort, 
who are conscientiously opposed to ^ wordly follies.’ ” 

Mr. Lacy' smiled, a little queerly. It was evident that he 
agreed with her, in her estimate of these over-scrupulous wor- 
thies. Still, the coveted request did not arrive, and she tossed 
out a desperate feeler. 

You do not think it undignifled to dance, do you ?” 

Perhaps if I were to state why I never participate in the 
pastime you laud so warmly, you would accuse me of an unmanly 
fondjless for a dish of scandal.” 

12 * 


138 


ALONE. 


What did he say? What did it mean? His amusement 
increased with her bewilderment, and before an explanation could 
be asked or given, Mr. Pemberton took her hand. 

Ida had, thus far, passed the dullest of dull evenings. Lynn 
and Charley, who never let her suffer for attention when they 
were by, had a business engagement which would detain them 
until late; it was even doubtful if they could come at all. She 
talked at a moustached, be-whiskered, and be-imperialed youth 
who solicited an introduction, because he had heard that she was 
smart,"' and hoped she could appreciate him ; his conversa- 
tional talents compensating in quality for their deficiency in 
quantity ; anybody could talk, but who could dress, and stand, 
and look as he did ? She tried to draw him out by encouraging 
smiles, and well put queries — he tugged at his waistcoat — she 
rallied him upon his abstraction — he stroked his left whisker — 
she pretended offence at one of his milk-and-water responses — he 
performed the like kindly office to the right — and she gave up 
in despair. 

Mr. He Langue was next. He was smart’" himself, and 
therefore could appreciate Aer, and to prove this, he rolled forth 
volume after volume of French con^pliments, unanswerable, 
because so highly polished that one could not, as it were, take 
hold of them; — edified her by disquisitions upon subjects of 
which she was profoundly ignorant, and information respecting 
others, of which she knew more than himself. After much 
manoeuvring she sought refuge in a corner, fatigued, disgusted 
and misanthropical. have thought that I might shine in 
general company, where feeling never enters, and flaring flip- 
pancy passes for wit ; it seemed easy to manufacture small-talk, 
but I was mistaken. This is ^ rational recreation !’ the pleasure 
of mingling in Hhe best society,’ as Josephine says. I envy St. 
Simon in his twenty years’ solitude upon his stone pillar.” 

• Compton, my dear fellow, can you make room for me to 
pass ?” said a voice near her. ^Hf I were a lady, I would faint, 
and let you extricate me, as I am not, I must fight my way 
out.” 

The gentleman addressed exerted his powers of compression, 
and Mr. Lacy edged by him. His course was towards the door, 
but he stopped as he espied Ida. << Miss Loss, have you a 


ALONE . 


139 


welcome in your < Retreat ’ for a storm-tossed wanderer ? Your 
quiet nook is most inviting/' 

Ida looked up mischievously. I will not hinder your flight, 
Mr. Lacy. Your envy of my corner is wasted upon one who 
heard you singing a moment since, like the melancholy starling, 
< I can’t get out ! I can’t get out !’ ” 

“ I plead guilty — but if a mightier temptation has mastered 
my desire for liberty ? There are birds who will not fly after 
the cage door is unfastened." 

“ They do not merit freedom," said she. 

Be it so — this is my prison," rejoined the gentleman, seat- 
ing himself upon an ottoman which Josephine, to get out of the 
way, had wedged behind the door, thinking as she did, that it 
might prevent the pressure of the crowd from breaking the 
hinges, with not a presentiment that she was furnishing a hiding- 
place for the last one of all the world whom she would have con- 
cealed. 

<< Now," continued he, << as I can see but one, I recognise but 
one jailor, and you will be merciful, remembering my voluntary 
incarceration. And as a starting-point to the conversation, why 
are you not in the other room ?" 

For the simple reason that no one has invited me to dance." 

He looked surprised, yet pleased at her frankness. You 
would go, if you received an invitation ?" 

<< That would depend upon circumstances. I should assuredly 
decline one from you." 

<< And why ?" 

I would not accept of anything ofiered in obedience to what 
the one who tendered it considered a hint. How I might act if 
I were a devotee of Terpsichore, I do not know, but a conversa- 
zione is more attractive to me than a ball." 

« We shall not quarrel there, and it is well that we agree in 
disagreeing with the general sentiment. Taught by the experi- 
ence gained in our short acquaintance, I should prefer a petition 
with a quaking heart." 

« You need not apprehend a refusal, provided your demand is 
reasonable and properly timed," answered Ida. 

Which of these provisos was wanting to ensure the success 
of the suit you negatived, upon the evening of our introduction?" 


140 


ALONE. 


<< Both/^ she returned, laughing. You insisted that I 
should sing, at sight, a song already dear to you, and I declined 
to spoil the music, and wreck my musical reputation with a 
stranger, from whose mind I might never have an opportunity 
of removing the unfortunate opinion.^^ 

In contrariety to these considerations, were the wish to 
oblige me, and a dislike to wound the feelings of your friend, 
Miss Josephine, and this scale kicked the beam said Mr. Lacy, 
interrogatively. 

No ; Josephine was out of the question ; she did not expect 
me to comply. We never sing together — or very rarely. My 
voice is not a contralto, nor does it accord with her’s. You will 
have to be content with my explanation ; I speak truth in the 
smallest matters.’^ 

<< The false in trifles are seldom reliable in things of greater 
moment,” replied the other. There is less deliberate, mali- 
cious falsehood in the world than we suppose. Men are oftener 
liars from habit, than from necessity or temptation.” 

But to this habit there must be a beginning. Is there no 
sin in the earliest deviation from the right way ?” 

I did not say that there is not sin in every violation of truth. 
Each one is a stain upon the soul — blots, that too frequently 
deface it forever ; but I do not subscribe to the casuistry that 
guages the guilt of a lie entirely by its efiects upon others — which 
smiles upon, as a harmless simpleton, him who ^ fibs’ or < yarns’ 
or ^ embroiders’ in cowardice or vanity, and empties the vials of 
wrath upon the Pariah, who seeks, by one heaven-daring false- 
hood, to save what he holds most dear. One destroys the mirrror 
by gradually damaging its bright surface, the other shivers it at 
one reckless blow.” 

This has often struck me,” said Ida. « It appears to me 
that the slower process deadens the conscience most surely, and 
the insensibility of those who practice it, betrays a more diseased 
state of the moral system than the pangs of remorse.” 

Undoubtedly; and this should make us doubly watchful 
against any infringement of veracity. The straightest, the only 
safe road is Hhe truth — the whole truth — and nothing but the 
truth.’ ” 

<^And who adheres to this rule?” asked Ida. ^^How much 
truth, do you imagine, is being uttered now in these rooms ?” 


ALONE. 


141 


are discoursing very philosophically, and will be charh 
table enough to believe that numerous couples are similarly 
engaged/^ 

“ Do you recollect Talleyrand’s definition of speech?” inquired 
Ida. 

‘ A faculty whereby we conceal our thoughts’ — ^yes — a sen- 
tence worthy of its author. What a life this would be if we 
were all Talleyrands !” 

We are — according to our capacities,” said Ida. . 

<< A singular sentiment for one of your age and sex I” replied 
Mr. Lacy, with a searching look. Has the world served you 
so unkindly, that you condemn your kind without reservation ?” 

« There was a mental reservation; yet my observation was 
true in a general sense. Men live for themselves ; — it is humi- 
liating to see how this principle regulates feeling and action. 
We love our friends because they are ours; — the pronoun ‘my’ 
expresses a nearness and sweetness which causes us to idolize the 
thing we appropriate; — ‘my own’ is the most endearing of appel- 
lations — what is the delight it inspires, but the grossest vanity 
and selfishness?” 

“ Pardon me, that I differ with you. Our love is won by the 
qualities of its object ; — there would be no pleasure in appropria- 
tion were not our affections enlisted; — no thrill of joy in identify- 
ing with ourselves, the unknown or unlovely; — if forced upon us, 
dislike would ensue. We become attached to our dear ones for 
their own sakes; although it cannot be denied, that a knowledge 
of a reciprocation of affection is an auxiliary to the growth of 
that fondness.” 

“And do you honestly credit the disinterestedness of human 
nature ?” 

“ I do — in many instances, and so do you. Look at the bene- 
factors of mankind — a Howard, preferring the noisome prison-cell 
to competence and home; — a Wilberforce, spending and spent in 
the great work ; — the missionaries of the cross, at this moment 
scattered in all lands, cut off from friends and civilization, without 
prospect of emolument or renown; forgotten, it may be, by all 
but Him, in whose strength they labor; where is the self-interest 
in this?” 

“ Your last is a puzzling case. The theory I have advanced, 


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perhaps too boldly, was not of my own choosing. I was com- 
pelled to its adoption by evidence which seemed incontestible, 
and I retain it because it solves more riddles in the complex 
machinery of society than any other I have heard. But it has 
its difficulties, and the main one is such conduct as you allude 
to. There is a key to the enigma, I suppose, if I could only 
find it.^^ 

<< There is,’^ said Mr. Lacy, feelingly. << There is a love which 
purifies the rest, a peace we would have all men know. They 
err, who say that devotion to God weans the heart from our 
friends. Our Divine Master has left us a new commandment — 
i that we love one another,^ and with the increase of our love for 
Him, our souls enlarge, until the arms of brotherly kindness 
embrace the universal family of mankind. There is no such 
being as a selfish Christian.^' 

Ida listened in amazement. This language was uncommon at 
any time and place out of the pulpit, but from an elegant and 
popular young man, it was novel in the extreme. 

can hardly understand the workings of a principle, which 
is itself a mystery,^’ she said. “Time was when religion was a 
household word to me, but exposure to adverse influences has 
erased from my mind all knowledge of this kind, if I ever had 
any understanding of its meaning.^^ 

“ You have the instruction of the immortal spirit within you. 
Is that satisfied with its fare ? Are you content with yourself 
and your mode of life ?” 

“ Content The tone was a sufficient reply. 

“Will you allow me to use the freedom of a friend. Miss Boss, 
and show you that in neglecting this subject you shut your eyes 
to the only true happiness? I know that the lot which appears 
brightest is checkered with vicissitudes — inward struggles, more 
trying than many visible afflictions. Against these, neither the 
spirits of youth nor the reasonings of philosophy can always pre- 
vail. I know how the lip smiles and the heart bleeds, although 
the anguish within does not drown the gay words upon the 
tongue. We may — we do conceal, but the sting rankles the 
same. Our Father never designed that we should be happy 
away from Him. These misgivings, this discontent with our- 
selves, and pinings for something better and higher, are voices 


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143 


beseeching us to partake of his love; they are the homesickness 
of a child, who has strayed, and has forgotten in new scenes the 
parent he has deserted, and the sight of a flower, a breath of 
warm air, a song he used to love, calls up the remembrance of 
that father, and a gush of shame and longing he is too proud to 
confess. Thus much all feel, but upon some fall heavier trials. 
Barth has no cure for the woes which a residence here entails 
upon us. Young as you are you may know this?^' 

^ado 

Is what I am saying disagreeable to you 
<^No, sir; — go on, if you please 

<^Then, if we are told of One, who cannot only comfort, 
but convert distress into blessing; of whose loving protection 
nothing can deprive us ; who will make this life tolerable — nay, 
pleasant, and assure us of an eternity of bliss to be shared with 
Him, — is it not the maddest folly to refuse the pledge He asks 
in return — a child^s love and trust 

<< I do not feel that I have acted thus said Ida, suddenly. 
My reason assents to what you have said, but my conscience 
is dumb. The thought of a Grod — Almighty and Holy — over- 
whelms me with awe — sometimes with terror. As Ruler and 
Judge, I pay him homage, and obey, when I can, the letter of 
His law ; — but He does not care particularly for me — one of 
the most obscure of His countless subjects. I believe that He 
is a tender Father to the favored ones who have tasted His 
grace, and they ought to adore and love. I thank Him, from 
afar off, for preservation — not for creation — and he does not call 
me nearer. You think* me very wicked, Mr. Lacy; — but as I 
said, if I speak at all, I speak candidly.^^ 

I like your truthfulness. You express what others secretly 
feel ; this distant respect is the natural tone of an enlightened 
mind, wedded to an unregenerate heart; and in your remarks, 
I detect the bitterness which is its concomitant, — amounting, in 
some, to deadly enmity against their Maker and Redeemer. 
Do you read the Bible — may I ask 
<<Yes — occasionally.” 

From what motive ?” 

<‘I read it as a curiosity in literature — but that is not the 
principal reason” — 


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« Excuse me, — had no right to put the question. I wished 
to know if you had noticed one or two passages — such as — <A11 
day long I have stretched forth my hands unto a disobedient and 
gainsaying people.' ^ When I called ye did not answer — when 
I spake, ye did not hear.’ ^ O Israel ! thou hast destroyed thy- 
self, but in me is thy hope !’ There is scarcely a page which 
does not bear some moving expostulation or entreaty ; and the 
disciple who knew Him best, condenses in one celestial drop 
the stream of revelation, < God is Love !’ Not a word of Power 
or Justice ! We cannot exaggerate these attributes, but we 
may dwell upon them, to the exclusion of His long-suffering 
and loving kindness.” 

You have a strange way of speaking of these matters 
said Ida. I am acquainted with a number of excellent Chris- 
tians, who never refer to the name by which they are called, 
but at long intervals, in set terms, and in a tone which frightens 
the < sinners’ to whom they address their exhortations. I have 
been troubled whether to question their sincerity, or the faith, 
which they assert, controls them.” 

Doubt neither Ascribe their silence to diffidence, or a 
fear of giving offence ; their unhappy manner, to ignorance of 
the proper method of managing hearts. It is to be regretted 
that the one Reality upon the globe should be banished from 
familiar conversation. If a man is sleeping upon the sea-shore, 
the big waves washing his pillow at each surge, am I censurable 
if I end his happy slumbers? Or, to employ an illustration 
which suits me better — ^I have a dear friend, to whom you are a 
stranger. With my esteem for you, will not my desire to bring 
you together, grow stronger ? When I discover traits in you 
which he would approve, will not I tell you of him, and use 
every means to facilitate an acquaintance, so pleasant and profit- 
able ? Especially, if a time is certainly coming, when you will 
require his assistance ; — an emergency is to overtake you, when 
all help but his will be vain — does it not become my imperative 
duty to implore you to accept the friendship he stands ready to 
bestow ?” 

<< Do not the Scriptures speak of. the veil that is upon their 
hearts ?” said Ida. 

Yes — but it is the veil of unbelief. If we do not of our- 


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145 


selves endeavour to tear it away, tlie light which streams upon 
us, at its removal, may be too late. God does not need, hut 
He demands our co-operation in His schemes for our salvation. 
There is our friend, Charley Dana ; he is late for a gentleman 
of his punctual habits.^^ 

The conversation changed. Ida would gladly have heard 
more of a topic, so unusual, and previously so unpleasing, but he 
dropped it, and she did not oppose him. The manner, more 
than the matter of his language, took her fancy. He did not 
arrogate superiority of sense or goodness, and had none of the 
stereotyped cant she dreaded; he did not preach, but talked, 
easily and quietly ; most of the time, with the smile she 
thought so beautiful, and she observed his avoidance of ‘‘ you’' 
and I," — substituting, when it could be done — we” and 
< ^ us,” as if to lay a platform of perfect equality. If he had 
intended to leave the room, when he fell in with her, he altered 
his purpose. Charley and Lynn paid their respects, chatted 
awhile, and went their ways; — the former to dance and jest 
with divers merry belles, who hailed his approach, a relief from 
the very minor flats, upon which they had been playing, during 
the tedious hours in the halls, which were not halls of mirth.” 
Lynn sought Ellen Morris ; and if Ida had seen the scarlet stain 
that suffused her cheeks, as she perceived him, she would have 
had confirmation strong” of a suspicion entertained from the 
first time she had beheld them together. Mr. Lacy withstood his 
jailor’s offers of liberation. ‘Hf she were inclined to change 
her place, or to promenade, he was at her service, but no altera- 
tion could better his condition ;” and Ida’s fears of detaining 
him, being dissipated by this straight-forward avowal, she 
abandoned herself to the enjoyment of communion with a noble 
intellect and finely-attuned spirit. The announcement of supper, 
the tocsin of liberty to a majority of the company, interrupted 
their lively dialogue. 

Long before this, Josephine’s eyes had raked the parlours from 
wall to wall, and she was fully satisfied, or c?^s-satisfied that her 
polar star was missing. 

In the sickness of the disappointment, she hated the show of 
pleasure going on about her : the most fagged-out of the chape- 
ron wall-flowers did not wish for the hour of separation more 

13 


146 


ALONE. 


ardently than did she. There was one streak of light upon the 
cloud ; — no society could recompense him for parting with hers, 
and he had departed in consequence : hut she could have bitten 
her tongue off, as she deplored her injudicious declaration 
(untrue too !) of devotion to an amusement, for which she cared 
nothing. Was ever girl so impolitic? What if he were him- 
self one of this religious sort the bare supposition was 
distracting ! she had committed the unpardonable sin ! 

<< What have you done with Mr. Lacy ?” queried one and 
another, and a ready untruth answered, He had an engage- 
ment, which obliged him to go early. Charley overheard one 
repetition of this excuse ; but although his eyes wandered, with 
a comical roll, towards the retreat of the recusant, he kept his 
own counsel. By supper-time, she was so convinced of the 
truth of her fabrication, that she neglected to institute a search 
which would have showed her Mr. Lacy and Ida, at the farthest 
end of the table. Twice again, she could have been blessed by 
a sight of him. Charley having invited Ida to a promenade in 
the hall, Mr. Lacy bethought him of his fair and partial hostess ; 
but she was not to be found. She was lying upon the bed in 
her chamber, fretting over her foolishness,^^ and the stupidity 
and worry’^ of all parties, — her’s in particular. Smoothing her 
face and ringlets, she regained the parlor by one door, as Morton 
left it by another. He encountered Ida and Charley, and 
walked with them until the carriages came to the door. Jose- 
phine accompanied several of her most fashionable guests to 
the dressing-room ; and Mr. Lacy, seeing there was no one to 
receive his conge, made none. 

The day after ! Mr. Bead was growly and headachy; — Jose- 
phine in her worst humor, and itching to vent it. The breakfast 
hour was enlivened by a continual peppering of small shot from 
her, varied by a big gun from her father. He sneered at her 
arrangements and company, saying much that was cuttingly 
true, more, really, than he was aware of; and she pecked at him 
and the servants. In spite of her dislike, Ida pitied her, as she 
surveyed the heaps of unwashed dishes and glasses ; the carpets, 
spotted with wine, — cake and jelly trampled into their velvet ; 
and the forlorn disorder that reigned over all. She was on the 
point of offering her assistance, when Josephine brushed by her, 


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147 


with a peremptory order to « folks who were cluttering up the 
room, to be off, if they did not mean to work I” Herself, the 
cat and the footman, who was collecting the remains of the feast, 
comprising the auditory, Ida thought herself justifiable in taking 
a share of the hint. 

She sent Rachel down in her place, enjoining upon her, as a 
prudential measure, not to speak, unless when asked a direct 
question. 

As to Ida, the close of her evening had more than compensated 
for the ennui of the beginning ; she had no foiled stratagems, no 
tangled snares to lament; yet the dissipation produced a nervous 
languor, tempting, yet dissuading her from action. She read — 
and the letters danced cotillions and waltzes over the page. The 
piano was in the parlor — but so was Josephine. She essayed to 
sew, and stitched up a seam wrong side out, and run the point 
of the needle under her finger nail. 

<< I must walk — I have it ! Mrs. Dana will like to hear about 
the party, and there is Ellens doll’s hat.” 

Her gloves were in a bureau drawer, and near them lay a 
velvet case, enclosing the miniature of her parents — excellent 
likenesses, but owing to some oversight in mixing, or in the 
quality of the colors, they were fading already. She had signi- 
fied to Mr. Read her intention to have them copied, before they 
should be so much defaced as to render it impracticable ; why 
not give them to Lynn ? His ability was uncontrovertible — it 
would be a kindness to him now, in the outset of his professional 
career; and she had the vanity to believe that he would bestow 
double pains upon what she so valued. She would carry them 
to Mrs. Dana, and ask her advice. 

That lady was in her nursery, which was one of Ida’s accus- 
tomed haunts. She was at home at once ; tossing the babe, and 
joining her voice to its chuckling laugh, until the room rang 
again ; Charley hanging upon her dress to entreat her praises of 
his hobby-horse ; and Elle waiting patiently to kiss her for the 

sweet bonnet that just fitted Dolly.” 

You have come to stay a good long time with me, I know,” 
said Mrs. Dana. Here is a note I was about to send to you, 
requesting the pleasure of your company to dinner. I thought 
you had rather be out of the way while Miss Josephine is ^ clean- 


148 


ALONE. 


ing up/ and to be candid, Mr. Dana has invited two or three 
gentlemen to dine with us, and I am too bashful to face them 
unsupported. I did not write this, lest you should have scruples 
on the subject, but you must stay for m’y sake and John^s. He 
made it a point that you should be asked. Do you know I am 
getting jealous 

But indeed, my dear madam’^ — 

But indeed, my dear miss, you will remove your bonnet 
immediately.” 

Resistance was useless; nor would Ida have offered it, had 
she been sure of meeting only the family; for the sun shone 
more brightly into this home-nest of cheerful peace, than into the 
abode she had lately quitted. The Danas knew enough of Mr. 
Read and Josephine, to make them solicitous to withdraw Ida 
as much from their influence as was consistent with her duty as ^ 
a ward. She never complained, except to Carry, but they 
respected her the more for her prudence. 

You will spoil me,” said she, as Mrs. Dana untied her 
bonnet 

No danger,” replied the lady, kissing her forehead — Carry’s 
caress — and as other lips did, years ago. Tears stood in the 
orphan’s eyes, but they did not fall. Elle wondered why cousir. 
Ida could not see her doll’s cloak without holding her head &. 
near to it. 

Mrs. Dana approved entirely of her project. 

Will you take them to him this morning ?” inquired she. 

I certainly had such a notion, but I do not like to go with jut 
you, and as you are expecting company” — 

<< No time like the present, my dear. My dinner is in the 
hands of the cook ; I shall not be wanted here for two hours. It 
is a lovely day, and I am glad of an errand that affords an excuse 
to go out.” 

As they were passing Dana & Co.’s” she halted. 

<< Had we not better ask Mr. Dana to pilot us ? I am uncer- 
tain of the exact locality of this same studio.” 

Mr. Dana could not go ; he was waiting upon a country cus- 
tomer with a memorandum as long as his arm ; but he conducted 
the ladies into the counting-room. Charley was there, at a tall 
desk, buried in ledgers and filed bills; and so business-like, that 


ALONE. 


149 

Ida hung back upon the threshold — a fear, of which she was 
ashamed, as he extended both hands to her, thanked them for 
their visit, and offered to escort them. He unlocked his bache- 
lor’s pantry of crackers, cheese and choice Madeira, hospitality 
which they civilly declined. Mr. Dana left the counter <^to hope 
that he should see Miss Ida at dinner a courtesy which was a 
a sign of esteem and favor from one of his reticent disposition. 

Lynn’s studio was a small, but exquisitely appointed room. 
It was a minute before the eyes, used to the out-door light, could 
penetrate the claro-obscuro of its twilight. 

Ida knew Lynn by his voice, and pressure of her hand, then 
a taller figure was developed to her vision, and she recognised 
Mr. Lacy. 

<^Are you engaged, Mr. Holmes?” asked Mrs. Dana. 

<^No, madam; Mr. Lacy has just concluded a sitting — the 
last. Your coming is opportune, you can criticise his portrait.” 

The voice was unanimous. It was a masterly painting, and 
faithful to life. 

A personable individual too, Morton — considering — ” said 
Charley. <<Did you have it painted for a sign-board ? ‘‘ Morton 
Lacy, attorney at law, — For recommendations, see heading of 
this article.’ What a multitude of lady-clients you would 
have !” 

<< It is for a lady who will not part with it, even to procure 
me a press of clients — ^for my mother,” returned Mr. Lacy. 

She will feel herself to be under great obligations to you, Mr. 
Holmes, for so truthful a transcript of her ^ absent boy.’ ” 

Ida looked at the original instead of the picture. It was, then, 
the handsomer of the two. With a complimentary observation 
of the workmanship, he dismissed the subject, and directed Ida 
to a genuine Claude, Lynn’s pride and boast. She slipped her 
case into Mrs. Dana’s hand, and followed him. Lynn presently 
approached. 

It would be an idle form to say that I am honoured by your 
application,” said he. Your heart will tell you how I esteem 
this proof of your friendship. It is a sacred trust, and as such 
I will fulfil it.” 

I feared you would discourage me,” replied Ida. Is it not 
difl&cult to take a picture, the size of life, from a miniature ?” 

13 ^ 


150 


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<< It requires eare, and a just regard to proportions j but I havd 
an assurance of success in my willingness to attempt the work. 

I hope — hnow I shall not fail. Now, what shall I do to enter- 
tain you ? I am so unused to morning calls from ladies — and 
such ladies ! that I am. at a loss how to bear my honors.'' 

Where are those long-promised port-folios ?" said Ida. We 
could not desire a more acceptable treat." 

The hour consumed in the examination of the artist's pictured 
treasures, was, to Ida, one of unalloyed delight. There might 
yet be diamonds in the pebbly sands of Eichmond. Coke 
loomed up threateningly before Mr. Lacy ; and Charley and 
Mrs. Dana felt some conscience-prickings, at the thought of Day- 
books and desserts ; but they did not offer to stir until Lynn 
affirmed that he had nothing more to show. 

‘‘ There are good points in this working-day life of ours, are 
there not ?" said Charley, as they went down the steps. 

^‘Just my sentiments!" answered Mr. Lacy. <^Yet Mr. 
Holmes is a dangerous citizen. He has beguiled an unsuspecting 
youth out of two hours of study. This is my apology for leaving 
pleasant company ; — it is a consolation to a benevolent-minded 
person like myself, to know that I, and not they, will suffer from 
the separation. Adieu !" 

^^'Till dinner-time," said Mrs. Dana. 

Mr. Dana convened a circle of friends to meet a young 
Northerner, the bearer of an introductory letter from his New 
York partner ; and it was apparent that his ideas of the boun- 
daries of civilization — ^ North by Cape Cod — South by Sandy 
Hook' — were seriously shaken by this peep at Virginia life. 
Mrs. Dana was, Charley maintained, a ‘ star housekeeper' ; and 
her laurels did not wilt to-day. A perfect understanding existed 
between her and her head-waiter, ‘ Uncle Abraham.' She did 
not issue an order ; and in emulation of her quiet manner, his 
instructions to his satellites wero inaudible to the guests. Mr. 
Lacy, Lynn, Mr. Brigham, (the stranger,) Mr. Villet, a French 
gentleman, whose amiability and pol^eness would have been his 
passport in any kingdom and clime, Mr. Thornton, recently 
admitted to the bar, and a fair sample of the educated South- 
erner; with the two Danas, and the ladies, made up the company, 
Mr. Thornton sat by Ida; Mr. Lacy opposite. His quick 


ALONE. 


151 


look of pleasure, as he was shown his place, indicated his satis- 
faction ; and although he did not interfere with her brilliant 
neighbor by addressing her in words, he did so frequently by his 
eye and smile. The conversation streamed on in a glittering 
tide ; — Mr. Thornton, always ready with fun or sense, and 
Charley, whose creed interdicted flagging chit-chat leading — 
then Lynn, warming, dashed in ; pursued, very cautiously, by 
Mr. Brigham. Mr. Villet cheered them on by his gusto of 
every repartee ; and John Dana set his seal of confirmation 
upon each profound remark. Mr. Lacy said comparatively 
little ; he seemed to prefer looking on ; but his intelligent counte- 
nance spoke so eloquentl^for him, that his silence did not 
obstruct the hilarious curr^. There was another listener, who 
entered heartily into the spirit of the hour ; — never imagining 
that the speakers gathered animation from her beaming face. 
She was oblivious of the fact of her bodily presence, until 
brought to the knowledge by the host’s, 

« Mr. Lacy, — Miss Boss will take a glass of wine with you.’' 

Mr. Lacy spoke a word to the servant who stood prepared to 
All his glass; and bowing with graceful composure to his 
vis-4-vis — 

Miss Ross will not forbid my pledging her health and 
happiness in a purer draught,” he said, and raised a tumbler of 
water to his lips. 

Temperance societies were not much in vogue in those days ; 
and were not in such odor as now ; and this movement 
astounded all present. Mr. Thornton, who had the common 
inflrmity of wits, who have not learned the inadequacy of this 
one talent, — ^rare 'though it be, — to supply the loss of every- 
thing else : and whose greatest fault was, that he ran his 
trenchant blade as often into the breast of a* friend, as foe, 
assailed his professional brother on the spot. He was parried 
with immovable good humour ; and the others came to his aid ; 
some with arguments, some with questions. Even Mr. Villet 
could not refrain from a qut of polite ridicule. The assailed 
maintained hrs ground manfully ; neither staggered nor dis- 
mayed by the odds against him. He knew every foot of the 
field, having fought upon it more times than any of them. 
Charley laid down his arms first — < silenced if not convinced' 


152 


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he owned; Mr. Thornton was ^ floored^ by a thrust equal to his 
last blow; — the fate of the battle was to be determined by single 
combat ; Lynn being un vanquished. He was an expert fencer ; 
and changing his tactics, stood upon the defensive. Once and 
again, was he forced into a corner, from which retreat appeared 
impossible ; and as often was he seen the next moment, fighting 
in the open plain, with unbattered crest. His opponent pro- 
posed a suspension of hostilities, but the auditors vetoed it 
peremptorily. They were alike amused and interested ; and 
Mr. Lacy observed, with a smile, that the ruby poison, the 
engenderer of the strife, was untouched during the discussion. 
Mrs. Dana made a feint of withtowal, and was solicited to 
remain, ‘ to be in at the death,’ Charley said. He had a double 
motive in supporting the request ; he foresaw defeat for Lynn ; 
and although the admirable temper of the argument was likely 
to continue to the end, he judged it best to keep his gallantry in 
play, as a balance-wheel to his impetuosity. The event did not 
disappoint his expectation. Lynn was game to the last, but 
surrender or not, he was indubitably beaten. Mr. Lacy covered 
his enemy’s rout by a flattering tribute to his argumentative 
abilities, and the two laughingly shook hands, as they arose 
from the board. 

In the parlor, their undisputed court, the ladies received 
the attention which had been diverted from them by the wordy 
war. 

<< To show that I bear no malice for old scores, I repeat the 
petition that met with so obstinate refusal,” said Mr. Lacy, giving 
Ida his arm. Will you sing for me ?” 

% Say, what shall my song be to-night, 

And the strain at your bidding shall flow,’” 

she replied, running her fingers over the keys. 

That I leave to you. I do not know what suits your voice 
or taste.” 

^ The last rose of summer,’ ” prompted Charley; afterwards, 
the < Captive Knight.’ ” 

Mr. Lacy laughed; supposing he intended a satire upon the 
^^miscellaneous” songsters, he had also thought of, when he 
objected to making a selection ; and Ida, slightly piqued at his 
want of confidence in her powers of vocalization, sang both with 


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inimitable skill and expression. The gentlemen pressed around 
to ask, each, for his favorite song. She complied readily and 
patiently. The natural compass and strength of her voice had 
been increased by diligent practice, yet music was with her, more 
a passion than an art; her songs, spirit-utterances instead of the 
compositions of others, learned by note. 

She is actually beautiful said Mr. Dana, aside to his 
brother. 

Something above the order of puppets, nicknamed young 
ladies, with which people ornament their parlors now-a-days,^^ 
was the reply. 

Removed from the gnome-like regards of Josephine, she was, 
indeed, a different being. The presence of this girl was a mental 
extinguisher — smothering the flame of feeling in fetid smoke — 
the kindliness of the Danas, the generous oil feeding the exhausted 
lamp. Years afterwards, when the purple flush had faded from 
life's morning, the scene preceding her departure upon this even- 
ing, would recur, as one of the proudest and happiest moments of 
her existence — John Dana, standing in front of her, his grave 
features relaxed into a smile of fatherly fondness, as he heard 
her defence of herself against an accusation of Mr. Thornton's — 
Mrs. Dana, her hand upon her husband's shoulder, listening and 
enjoying — Charley and Lynn, her allies and counsellors, waiting 
to add their testimony — Mr. Lacy sitting beside her, and drink- 
ing in her words with an avidity that brought the blood tingling 
to her cheeks, and excited the meaning smiles of the spectators. 
She was in her proper sphere ; the centre and idol of a home- 
circle. The praises lavished upon her were ‘honestly won — too 
much would have satiated, not spoiled — the utter absence of 
reward soured her. 

“ I have had a happy, happy day, dear Mrs. Dana !" whispered 
she, at going. I shall write to Carry to-morrow, to apprise 
her how well you fill her place." 

Mr. Lacy attended her home. Curiosity had set for him the 
study of her character. Her mien bespoke no ordinary soul ; 
and the inuendoes of Josephine, meant to deter him from pro- 
secuting it, stimulated his desire. They had been together 
repeatedly, previous to the party, but always in the company of 
the Extinguisher. Herarch glance and rejoinder to his thought 


154 


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less remark, wliile recalling Josephine^ s insinuation of her hoy- 
denish propensities, nevertheless fascinated him. From being 
amused, he grew interested j he was working a mine of thought, 
and unless the clue was false, there was a substratum of feeling. 
The friendship of the Danas convinced him that the heart was 
warm and true. He saw the frank girl amidst the friends in the 
studio, and the accomplished woman in the coterie of the evening; 
and could not say which was most attractive. So much intel- 
ligence and so little affectation are seldom seen in the same 
person he meditated. She has the materials for a noble 
character.'^ Did he think to mould it ! 


CHAPTEE XIII. 

Otjr youthful debutantes were plunged into the maelstrdm of 
a fashionable season ; a whirl which, in its outermost circles, was 
as gratifying to the feverish energy of Ida as to the vanity of 
her more grovelling-minded associate. The rapidly shortening 
days seemed longer instead, so uneventful and wearisome were 
they. Life commenced when the evening’s thousand lamps were 
lit. The mingling perfumes ; the crush and flutter ; the wave- 
like roar of the assembly-room, were delicious excitement to the 
emancipated school-girl ; and to the astonishment of those who 
had known her then, the reserved student bloomed into the 
dashing wit and belle ; beauties and heiresses sitting, uncourted 
by,' while ^^eligibles” contended for the honor of her preference. 
Her newness was a part of the secret. The spectacle of a wild 
Zingara, unreigned, and glorying in the fullness of its freedom, 
scorning bit and spur, amongst a pack of jaded hackneys, who 
have been trotted and paced and galloped, year after year, until 
their factitious animation and oft-repeated gambols created pity 
and contempt, would cause a sensation akin to that awakened by 
her appearance. Her lightest words were jeux d’ esprit; her 
laugh, a chime of silver wedding-bells; (things by the way, of 
which every body talks, but nobody we have questioned, ever 
heard,) her singing seraphic ; her ballads lyric gems ; herself a 
Corinne. Josephine was latest to perceive, first to resent this 


ALONE. 


155 


sudden accession of popularity. Rivalry from this source was as 
unexpected as unbearable. Her glass showed her a form, airy 
as a summer cloud ; a set of features more delicate and regular 
than Ida’s characteristic physiognomy; and in dress, she certainly 
bore off the palm ; her maid being invariably rung up an hour 
and a half before Rachel’s services were demanded. She fought, 
as long as she could, with the conviction that this pre-eminence 
was as though it had not been to the world ; and when it made 
a violent entrance into her circumscribed intellect, how was the 
milk of her nature curdled to vinegar ! And how like nitre to 
vinegar, were the happily-chosen congratulations of her attendant 
beaux, upon her good fortune in inhabiting the same house with 

her charming friend. Miss Ross;” or, ^<Miss Ida even surpasses 
herself to-night;” << A remarkable girl! such vivacity! and I 
hear, quite as much profundity of mind ; is this so, Miss Read ?” 
And the writhing dissembler had to assent, and corroborate, and 
smile, while the yeasty waves frothed and bubbled furiously in 
their confinement. To expose her envy would damage her pros- 
pects, hinged as they were, in part, upon her sweetness of dispo- 
sition. 

It might have been a salvo to her wounded vanity had she 
guessed by what a length of time her jealousy outlived the tri- 
umph which aroused it ; how the feast of adulation, so daintily 
spread, ceased to tempt, then nauseated ; how, from the jewelled 
robe of society the gloss wore away, and threadbare tatters were 
all that remained of what was cloth of gold ; how prevarications 
and oaths refused longer to shelter falsehood; and the garlands 
withered and shrank from manacles which heated with the wear- 
ing ; how the earth itself was a thin, hollow ball, that one could 
puff away with a breath ; how, ere the fire the revel had infused 
into her veins cooled, the coronal was plucked from the brow, 
the costly attire crushed petulantly, a worthless rag ! And at 
that window, the freezing air not chilling her heated blood — the 
envied one wept blistering tears of self-abhorrence and despon- 
dency — and the night-wind sighed to the moan — << Not this! 
not this !” and the old prayer for liberty and love!” We say, 
had she known this, she might have felt avenged ; but the public, 
nor she, saw any alteration in its fondling and her detestation. 
It was the middle of December. Balls, concerts, and soirees had 


156 


ALONE. 


been given in breathless succession, and Ellen Morris issued 
tickets for yet another. The appointed hour saw the house over- 
flowing. Ida was near the centre of the front parlor, radiant and 
flattered as usual. One gentleman, with an air of easy assur- 
ance, was inspecting her bouquet; a second, pushing a mock 
flirtation with all his might; a third, a callow youngster, afraid 
to speak to the bright particular, he had so panted to behold, 
staring into her face in sheepish agony; and a fourth peered 
over the shoulder of number one. 

<< The camelia, Miss Ida, what is its emblem asked the 
bouquet hofder. 

Beauty without wit;” rejoined she, but half hearing him, 
and then finishing a sentence to No. 2. 

Without amiability, you mean,” corrected No. 4. 

Without wit !” said Ida. I relish an active perfume, 
which can be detected without effort of mine, and do not prize a 
flower that must be bruised to extract its sweetness ; amiability 
is, at best, a passive virtue.” 

But what is a beautiful woman without softness, tenderness, 
effeminacy ?” said No. 2, whose stock of words exceeded that of 
ideas. She wins us by her yielding submissiveness, her gentle 
mildness. Destitute and devoid of these, she is to me without 
charm or attraction. Do not understand me, however, as depre- 
ciating or undervaluing wit in ^our presence !” recollecting him- 
self, with a salaam. 

No apologies are necessary. We all agree that such depre- 
ciation would come with a bad grace from Mr. Talbot,” said Ida, 
pointedly, returning a still deeper curtsey. 

No. 1 nodded, as he laughed, to some one beside her. << Good 
evening,” said Mr. Lacy, as she looked around. 

And he has overheard this nonsensical stuff !” thought she, 
with inward disturbance. <^When did you come in?” she 
inquired. 

« About ten minutes since ; most of which time has been 
spent in a search for Mrs. or Miss Morris.” 

« I am glad to hear it.” 

Glad — how ?” 

feared you had occupied your present position some time.” 

He understood her. There are more people here than I 
expected to see,” he said, after some general conversation. 


alone. 157 

Almost too many/’ replied Ida; am getting tired of 
tliese great parties/^ 

The heat is oppressive. Have you a liking for this stand V* 

No — my being here is accidental. It requires some effort to 
stand, or walk upright, in the heart of this crowd. 

I noticed, as I came through, that the music room was more 
thinly populated — will you rest there 

This was a mere boudoir compared with others of the suite, 
and the prepossessions of the company were for music of a differ- 
ent kind. The violin was discoursing its enchanting strains in 
the farther apartment, and there were not above a dozen persons 
in the one, where slumbered the piano and guitar. 

Are you indisposed. Miss Ross asked Mr. Brigham, who 
was fanning a fragile-looking girl, reclining in an easy chair. 

No — only tired. You have acted wisely in shunning the 
press and bustle. Miss Moore. I am happy to see you able to 
venture out in the evening.^^ 

Your climate is doing wonderful things for me,’^ answered 
Miss Moore, smiling. 

How dreadful to be deprived of health, and the hope of a 
long life said Ida, when they were seated. 

<< And especially mournful in this instance, if I am not 
deceived!’’ replied Mr. Lacy. I pity that man! he will not 
believe that bereavement is inevitable; and if < death was ever 
branded upon human brow,’ it is upon hers.” 

I honor his constancy and devotion,” said Ida. << The 
object of his visit in the fall, was to acquaint himself with 
the advantages our city possesses for invalids; then he went 
back for her mother and herself. He is both brother and lover. 
Who would have expected this from a man of his phlegmatic 
constitution ?” 

« Another warning of the folly of judging by appearances. 
It is possible, too, that we who are pitying her are as much in 
want of compassion. The highest happiness is unaffected by 
extraneous influences.”. 

Happiness !” echoed Ida. << It is a myth.” 

So says the sage of eighteen — gay, gifted and caressed ! 
You will not entrap me into a sermon ;” said Mr. Lacy, spor- 
tively. <^No! no! Miss Ida! you will regard me as a lineal 

14 


158 


ALONE. 


descendant of Bunyan’s Mr. Law — a Griant Grim, who frequents 
places of amusement to corner children, and relate scary stories 
to them/' 

« A monster who does not exhibit himself often returned 
Ida. This is but the second large party at which I have seen 
you. Are you principled against them 

No, and yes. I do not disapprove of social pleasures. They 
make light, yet firm, the bands that cement our species. Their 
suppression would convert the most benevolent into a morose 
eremite; but I do See incipient evil in the frequency of these 
scenes. Setting aside the waste of time, which may belong to 
matters of importance, sooner or later they produce a disrelish 
for domestic duties, and an enervation, physical and mental, like 
the languorous sobriety of a toper. There is nothing nourishing 
in the immortal mind, in a ceaseless round of gaiety." 

<< How do you know, by personal experience 

“ Even so. I once drank pretty deeply of Pleasure's cup — 
did not drain it to the lees — but drew off the clear wine, and was 
beginning to taste the bitter, before I would let go. I was in 
Mr. Holms' studio, yesterday, and missed your portraits. You 
have them ?" 

« I have." 

« Are you pleased ?" 

Entirely. I do not remember my father, but Mr. Bead 
says the likeness is good. The other could not be improved." 

<< Mr. Holmes is a painter of exalted abilities, and an enthu- 
siast in his art. I did not know him well until our passage at 
arms at Mr. Dana's, the day we dined there. We have been 
friends ever since. My sister writes that his portrait of myself 
is a solace in the loneliness of her sick chamber. She has the 
kindest of mothers and friends, but there are times when they 
are unavoidably absent, and she is childish enough to talk to the 
dumb semblance of one who is not worthy of her love, and 
imagine that it looks back its answers." 

Have you but one sister ?" 

But one at home — three are married. Annie seems nearer 
to me ; she is next me in age, and until a year ago was my 
inseparable companion." 

His eye rested upon Miss Moore. We were speaking of 


ALONE. 


159 


happiness in affliction. If skeptical on ^this head, you should 
know her. She is never free from pain and never impatient ; 
her sunny, loving temper, makes her room the resort of the 
neighborhood — but this does not interest you.^' 

Not interest me said Ida, reproachfully. Do you then 
think me the heartless creature I appear? I am not wholly 
absorbed in self. We have never conversed as strangers; do 
not let us retrograde now. True, I have no sister, but I have a 
friend who is more to me, so I may listen.'^ 

<< Thank you,’^ said he sincerely. << I have feared you might 
deem my informal address presumptuous ; but I seem to have 
known you for years, not months. I cannot wear my company 
manners when talking to you.^^ 

<< Perhaps we have met before, in an anterior state of exist- 
ence,^^ replied Ida; «and lurking memories of introductions, 
and compliments, and staid courtesies, render these preliminaries 
odious now. I could be sure, sometimes, that my spirit has 
lived in this world before it tenanted its present body.^^ 

These are fascinating, yet dangerous speculations,^^ he 
answered. I am tormented by them myself, but I shun 
them as unprofitable.^' 

(( Why so ? The soul, as our nobler part, merits most study ; 
its mysteries are yet undiscovered. What a field expands to 
our contemplation ! over which the mind may rove and exult 
for ages, and leave unimpoverished. I would not barter one 
hour of such thoughts — chimerical though they may be — for 
ten years of this vapid, surface life. I had rather dive into the 
ocean, to bring up nothing but valueless shells, than drift, like 
dead sea-weed, upon the top of the sleepy waves." 

<< May I describe another mode of life and action ?" 

Certainly — so you do not laugh at me." 

<< Do you apprehend that I shall ?" fixing his clear eye upon 
her’s. I would remind you of the humble mariner, steering 
his vessel boldly, but carefully, through the waters, thankful in 
sunshine, courageous in tempest, with one port in view, rowing 
past the Fairy islands that stud the deep; keeping a straight 
path in a trackless waste, for he looks to the eternal heavens for 
guidance." 

I must sport among the islets," said Ida. << You do not 


160 


ALONE. 


quite compreliend me, Mr. Lacy. I have told you more than 
once that life has thus far been a disappointment to me, but it 
is not that I have sucked the orange dry, and would cast the 
tasteless pulp away. Mine has been so acid I must hope that 
time and the sun of prosperity will ripen it to lusciousness. 
Others tell of unknown depths of happiness I have capacity to 
enjoy — am I unreasonable in trusting that my turn will come ? 
Have I tasted all of earth’s delights at eighteen 

Could you quaff them at one draught, your thirst would not 
be appeased. You are no nearer to contentment now than you 
were three years since. The drink-offering of popular award is 
growing dull and stale; and you sigh at what would have chased 
gloom a month ago, and this is the hey-day of pleasure. Nay,’* 
continued he, dropping his earnest tone, and bending to look 
into her face, I shall not forgive myself if I mar your even- 
ing’s entertainment by my croaking. Messrs. Talbot & Co.’s 
anathemas against my impertinent monopoly do not occasion 
me a hundredth part of the disquiet your very sober face does. 
Mr. Thornton is coming to ask you to dance. Will you go ?” 

Fatigued !” exclaimed the barrister, to her excuse. << I 
should as soon admit the plea of a star for ceasing to shine upon 
the pretext that it was too troublesome to continue its light.” 

Has there never been such a disappearance ?” questioned 
Mr. Lacy. 

I have seen eclipses,” retorted the other. The sun is 
invisible, when the leaden moon comes between it and us. 
This music is too inspiriting. Miss Koss; am I reduced to the 
necessity of seeking another partner ?” 

<< I am sorry I can’t say < no,’ ” said she, laughingly. 

Mr. Lacy was bent upon expelling the regrets reflection might 
beget; and wiled into confidence by his gentle endeavors to 
induce a trust in him as a friend, Ida spoke freely, though not 
unguardedly, of feelings and thoughts which had been so long 
hushed, that their speech was slow and imperfect ; but he inter- 
preted and prized their stammered story. As the night wore 
on, exhausted couples dropped in, and there was an end to con- 
nected conversation. It was as well, for both were forgetting 
where they were. Morton relinquished his chair to Ellen, and 
stood by her, and Lynn sank, playfully, upon one knee before Ida. 


ALONE. 161 

Take care was his whisper. << Serpents coil in rose- 
thickets.” 

“ What do you mean inquired she, struck and chilled. 

That we are the most tenacious of that to which we have 
the most meagre title.” 

<< A masculine Sphynx ! speak out I” she demanded. 

Miss Read could enact (Edipus to this riddle. Seriously, 
Ida, beware of that woman ! She courts Lacy's society. I do 
not know what the ladies’ verdict is — to us it is as plain as that 
he does not like her half as well as he does you. Do not avoid 
him ; he deserves your ftivor ; but do nothing to uncover her 
eyes — blindfolded by her egregious conceit.” 

Lynn ! you confound me ! What have I to do with Mr. 
Lacy ! I have no interests which would war with hers, were they 
ever so strong. Having nothing to lose, I have nothing to fear. 
I am obliged to you for your brotherly cares,” she added, 
roguishly. << A fellow-feeling makes us wondrous kind.” 

<<You know it, then!” exclaimed he, his large eyes, splendid 
in their flash of intelligence and rapture. 

« I am not insensible or indifierent, where the happiness of 
my friends is concerned,” she rejoined, in the same confidential 
tone. 

Another gleam thanked her. 

Ellen Morris was what is termed, a << taking girl.” The high, 
gay spirit, which had distinguished her among her comrades at 
Mr. Purcell’s won her distinction in a world willing to be amused. 
She had objectionable traits, but there was also much that was 
admirable and loveable about her. If her over-weening fond- 
ness for merriment ofiended, it was easy to forgive one, whose 
lively sense of the comic was inbred and irresistible-. Still, it 
was a marvel that the impassioned Lynn should recognise in her 
the embodiment of his poetic dream of woman. They met 
before he went to Europe, and the tricksy sprite of a school-girl 
was not dislodged from his memory by the lures that tried him 
there. He came back to find a blooming maiden preserving the 
fresh, joyous grace which had captivated him in the child — and 
loved ! as men seldom love — as women often do — with an aban- 
don of affection, an upyielding of every faculty and thought to 

14* 


162 


ALONE. 


the dominion of one sentiment — a love that brings gladness to 
few hearts, and breaks many I many ! 

Had' he asked Ida, with the disinterested equanimity, some 
suitors we wot of, display, what course she would advise in this 
momentous matter, she would have responded with a sister’s 
candor, she does not suit you — rid yourself of your entangle- 
ment;’^ but it was too late; — she must hope with, and for .him. 
In payment for his cautionary remark, she hinted, that, situated 
as they were, misconstruction and jealousy might be formidable 
foes to his peace of mind : — that neither smiles nor frowns 
were unerring indices of a girl’s hearW He scouted the implied 
suspicion, 

“Jealous of these popenjays!” glancing disdainfully at the 
black coats and white vests in attendance, as if he thought they 
contained wound-up automata. 

“ The danger does not appear imminent ;” said she. “ See 
that you retain this satisfied state of mind.” 

Her countenance fell, and he heard Josephine say, simper- 

ingly_ 

“ How dramatic ! pray, Mr. Holmes, is this a rehearsal, or a 
real performance ?” 

“ Most ladies are so versed in love affairs, as to understand 
the symptoms at a glance ; — is not your eye sufficiently practiced 
asked he, with a curling lip. 

“ No, sir. I regret to say that the gentlemen of my acquaint- 
ance are not sentimental or polite enough, to get up such scenes.” 

“ I have no doubt you do deplore it.” 

“Why, Mr. Holmes!” ejaculated Ellen, with her gleeful 
laugh ; “ how ungallant 1” 

“ You mistake. It was a skilful combination of veracity and 
politeness. I must coincide with her, and am pleased that it 
can be done without violence to my conscience. I wish I could 
propose a cure for the evil you lament. Miss Read, but I am 
afraid it is irremediable. Men are obstinate animals.” 

Ida, alarmed, touched his foot; and the lynx eyes saw the 
slight movement. A deadly light glowed there for an instant, 
and was extinguished in softness, as she assailed Mr. Lacy. 

In what far distant region of ih& halh* 
have you kept yourself all the evening, Sir Truant ?” 


ALONE. 


163 


<< Polyhymnia and Melpomene muttered Lynn. 

<< I have been a fixture in this room most of the time;” replied 
Morton. 

How selfish ! had you no sense of duty ? could you not 
sacrifice your ease to secure the enjoyment of your friends ?” 

<< It would argue ridiculous vanity in me, to suppose that my 
absence has detracted from the pleasures of the assembly ; and 
from the aspirants for the smile of the reigning belles, so unim> 
portant a personage is not missed.” 

<< Can he like her ?” thought Ida. There is still an air 
unlike other men, but he does not act or speak as he did to me. 
Hfe looks amused but very careless. Oh I why must we have 
two faces ?” 

Why did you stop me just now queried Lynn, pettishly. 
<< I do not fear her; I am rather anxious she should know the 
extent of my dislike.” 

How will that benefit either of you ?” inquired Ida. 

DonH play the saint ! much consideration you owe her ! I 
am a good hater : — I cannot fawn and smile upon one, — woman 
though she is — beggared in principle and heart. She is capable 
of anything. Mean and tyrannical — those who deal with her, 
must be tools or enemies, — I choose the latter alternative. I 
will not hear any justification. Don’t I know — cannot everybody 
see, that she is the trouble of your life, — that she would murder 
you, but for the cowardly dread of detection !” 

You will counsel me next, to sleep with pistols under my 
pillow ;” said she. What an array of horrors you are manu- 
facturing ?” 

It is as true as Gospel. Why disclaim it ? Charley told 
me of the vixen before I saw her; he can be civil — I cannot — 
and what is more — will not !” 

He sees, perhaps, that animosity to my friends may be an 
engine to inflict suffering upon me ;” answered Ida, thinking of 
Mr. Dermott. 

Lynn coloured. He intimated as much. I have not his 
self-command; he is a better, because a more unselfish friend 
than I ” 

(( I have no fault to find with you ;” was the reply. It is a 
comfort to feel, that come what may, I have two brothers to 
depend upon.” 


164 


ALONE. 


Charley was leaning upon the back of her chair, and this 
remark was made partly to him. Lynn pressed her hand, as he 
recovered himself from his lowly posture, but there was as much 
meaning in the kind gaze of his undemonstrative friend. Their 
affection was a rill of pure water, stealing through a region of 
artificial light and bloom ; and people pretended to, or did mis- 
interpret it. Josephine credited, doubted, and was impatient by 
turns. One of them was the lover ; — they were too friendly to 
be bound upon the same errand. Lynn’s manner was most 
unequivocal — but his attentions to Ellen! Charley was not a 
marrying man — that was settled — everybody said ; but the ten- 
der respect he paid Ida ; the watchfulness that protected her 
from impertinence and neglect, were weighty offsets to this 
popular decision ; — and again, opposed to these, were his dis- 
interestedness in surrendering his post to Lynn, or any agreeable 
companion, who sought it ; and the absence of uneasiness in his 
observation of her belleship. 

Ida laughed at her mystification, as did those who effected it, 
— frequently concerting some manoeuvre, by which to lead her 
further into the labyrinth. If Charley made one of the family 
in the evening, the morrow brought Lynn to drive or walk. 
Charley lent her books, and imported a writing-desk from Paris, 
upon hearing Mrs. Dana say that Ida had made a fruitless 
search through the city, for one of a particular description; — 
Lynn appeared to have laid down the brush for the spade and 
pruning knife, so abundant were the bouquets, left with Mr. 
Holmes’ compliments; and the walls of her chamber were 
adorned with ‘pictures, from subjects proposed or approved by 
her. But amidst the frolicsome action of this drama, was col- 
lecting matter for another, to be closed only with Life, — to bo 
remembered, perchance, with Eternity; and the chief actor 
danced and sang and sported, unaware of the importance of the 
dawning era. All her life a dreamer, she did not observe that 
the enshrined ideal was shaping itself into the real ; — that the 
far-off future, her hopes had sprung forward to greet, as if to 
meet it half-way would hasten its lagging pace, was merging 
into the brightening present. She had expected the summer to 
burst upon her, with fragrance and music and sunshine, and took 
no note of the swelling buds and violet perfume of Spring And 


ALONE. 


165 


here, let not him, who is wearied by the labors of Autumn, or 
numbed by the frosts of Winter, close our humble story, with a 
lofty scorn, or scathing displeasure at the prospect of a “ love- 
tale/’ Kather let him unfold his shut-up heart, and read there 
of his own glad May, its dancing shadows, fairer than the 
oblique sun-rays that fall upon his beaten track ; — of the rosy 
J une, the redemption of its young sister^s promise : — and look- 
ing sadly upon its dust-eaten blossoms, think, with loving pity, 
of flower-cups which hold the dew-drop now, — soon to fade and 
scrivel as these have done ! 


CHAPTEK XIV. 

It had been predicted from the premature beginning of the 
winter’s gaieties, that an ebb would occur before the Southern 
carnival, Christmas, and the party-goers resolved to falsify the 
prophecy. 

Mrs. Dana called on the afternoon of the 24th to invite Ida 
and Josephine to dine with her. <<You will see only ourselves 
and Mr. Holmes, who is Charley’s shadow.” 

<< A stupid set,” was J osephine’s reflection. << How pleasant,” 
Ida’s ; and their ideas corresponded. The former, very sorry, 
papa would always dine at home, Christmas-day ; he held it to 
be a religious she verily believed,” laughing afiectedly, and 
he could not eat unless she were there.” 

Ida said, << I will come with pleasure, thank you,” and lost 
all but the main purport of Miss Head’s apology, in an eager 
whisper from Elle, who was with her mother. 

<< I don’t hear, will I ^ please come to what ?’ lifting her to her 
lap.. 

■ Elle put her arms around her neck, and her mouth to her 
ear. 

<< To your molasses stew !” said Ida, << indeed I will. When 
is it to be ?” 

Another important whisper. 

Josephine, are we engaged for to-morrow evening ?” 

I do not know,” she replied, shortly. 


160 


ALONE. 


I hope not/’ said Mrs. Dana. Elle’s head is full of her 
frolic. I was describing to her the molasses stew I had every 
Christmas, when I was a child, and nothing would do but I must 
promise her one for being a good girl.’ ” 

“ She deserves it, I know,” said Ida, fondly. << I will come, 
Elle, if I leave fifty grown people’s parties.” 

Will you, too ?” asked the child, going up to Josephine. 
Mrs. Dana pressed the invitation. 

I am not certain, but I have engaged to go somewhere else,” 
said Josephine, smiling heartlessly into the pure little face. 

I can, I will do myself the honor. Miss Dana.” 

The wretched attempt at playfulness actually frightened Elle, 
who shrunk again to the side of her friend. 

<< Are you serious in promising to go to this babyish fal-lal ?” 
snapped Josephine, the minute Mrs. Dana was gone. 

“ I am.” 

Did not you hear that Anna Talbot is to receive company 
to-morrow night?” 

Yes; and I am rejoiced that Elle’s invitation was earliest. 
There are Anna and Ellen Morris.” 

I havn’t time to stay,” exclaimed the young lady, throwing 
herself upon the sofa. You both must spend a sociable even- 
ing with me — a Christmas jubilee — egg-nogg, country-dances, 
etc. We are to have a high time. You are disengaged ?” 

I am,” said Josephine, promptly, and if I were not, I 
could not resist the temptation to send a < regret,’ and go to 
your house.” 

Thank you — and you, Ida — may I count upon you both ?” 
drawing up her cloak. Ida declined courteously; — ‘^she was 
engaged to Mrs. Dana.” 

<< Oh !” b^an Anna, disappointed. 

<< Is it not too silly ?” interposed Josephine. It is a child’s 
party — a molasses stew — think of it!” 

<< You are joking, Ida,” said Ellen, << excuse yourself to Elle"^ 
— we want you 1” 

<< Not as much as my little cousin does. I cannot break my 
word to her.” 

“ Little cousin 1” smiled Anna. I thought the relationship 
was closer. I will not give up the hope of persuading you. 


ALONE. 


167 


The nicest beaux in town are to be there — Mr. Thornton, Mr. 
Kussell, and Mr. Villet, and Mr. Lacy, and a score more — do 
come V” 

I cannot said Ida, with a pang. 

Papa will not be pleased with our going out separately 
said Josephine,^ that night. 

He does not object to my going to Mr. Dana^s alone;’’ was 
the response. 

Thinking of number one, as usual, my amiable lady ! I tell 
you what ! I shall not demean myself, by playing puss-in-the- 
corner, and smearing my hands with treacle, when I might be 
at Mr. Talbot’s, in decent company.” 

<< As you like. If you represent the character of the com- 
pany to your father, he will probably insist upon your mixing 
with them.” 

He ! he !” tittered Eachel, who was in waiting. J osephine 
flounced out of the room. 

Christmas gift. Miss Ida !” Her maid stood at her bedside, 
in the grey morning light. << Christmas gift !” called out the 
passers-by, as they encountered each other in the street. Hur- 
rah for Christmas !” shouted squads of boys, at the corner, to a 
brilliant accompaniment of pop-crackers. 

Ida heard it all, with a spirit out* of tune with mirth. No 
gifts were prepared for her; the Thanksgiving-day was one of 
mourning to the homeless. She had anticipated a visit from 
Carry, during the holidays ; but her last letter had dashed the 
hope. Mammy” was recovering from a severe fit of sickness, 
and she would not leave her. Ida wished she were not to dine at 
Mr. Dana’s, she was not fit for society, and sad enough, without 
the sight of joys, which reminded her of her losses and wants. 
In this discontented mood, she went down stairs. No Christmas 
yet ! Mr. Read grunted to her formal bow, and Josephine said 
<< the coffee was cold — it had been on the table so long.” Mr. 
Read finished his second cup, and pulled out his pocket-book. 

People will be asking if I made you a present. Thank 
goodness ! Christmas comes but once a year. Two would break 
a man. There !” fillipping a roll of notes to his daughter. 
« Don’t waste it upon gira cracks and finery. If women had to 
earn money, they wouldn’t be so crazy to spend it. You must 


168 


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have some, I suppose and he laid a smaller bundle upon Ida^s 
plate. 

' << No, sir ! I have money of my — but he did not wait to hear 
her through. As she quitted the table, Josephine pointed to 
the untouched present. '' 

Take it, if you choose said Ida, contemptuously. I am 
not a dependant or a beggar 

Josephine loved money, and pocketed it. And the old cur- 
mudgeon is none the wiser chuckled the dutiful daughter. 

Ida stretched herself upon a lounge, and set seriously about 
reasoning herself out of her despondency. She thought of Carry, 
and Lynn and Charley ; but they came reluctantly, with selfishly 
happy faces; with their schemes and amusements and dearer 
friends. Mr. and Mrs. Dana pitied her; — this was the spring 
of their kindness ! and her haughty soul winced at the idea. 
Hope and Fancy crept, with trailing wings, into hiding-places 
until the sun should shine out — she sullenly hugged her misery. 
What visionary who reads this, but has sufiered from these 
morbose fits ? 

Well said she, tartly, as Rachel tiptoed across the floor. 

<< I thought you was asleep replied the sable damsel. 

« I am awake — do you want anything 

Rachel rubbed her chin,^ave her turban a twitch, and fumbled 
in her pocket. << Law ! I aint lost it, I know I It must be in 
my bosom 

Ida, awakened by her movements, watched her as she pro- 
duced a tiny packet from the last-mentioned receptacle. With 
an odd compound of awkwardness and affection, she slipped a 
ring upon her mistress- finger. 

<< Thar ! it fits ! don’t it?” intensely complacent. 

But where did you get it, Rachel ? is it for me ?” 

“For you, and nobody else. Miss Ida. I was determined 
your nose should not be made a bridge of by everybody; so Fve 
been a savin’ my spare coppers — (and no servant of yours wants 
for ’em,) and when you was admirin’ that ar .ring of Miss 
Josephine’s,.! says to myself — <She shall have one !’ and when 
I’d cleaned up yJnrroom, I took off down town to the jewellerers 
— and thar ’tis — wishin’ you a Merry Christmas, and an ever- 
lastin’ Happy New Year, ma’am !” steppiug back with a flourish- 


ALONE. 


169 


ing courtesy. Ida tried to smile at her peroration, and failing, 
burst into tears. Rachel was transfixed. She was not used to 
hysterics, and* had never seen her mistress weep before. Her 
consternation was a speedy restorative ; and Ida finally made her 
sensible that she was not grieved or displeased, but overjoyed at 
her gift. Then the voluble Abigail recollected << somethin^ else^' 
she had to communicate. 

« Aint that tall gentleman, with black whiskers, that visits 
here so constant, named Mr. Lacy 

Yes.^' 

I thought so. When I went into the jewellerer^s he was a 
standin^ at the counter, buyin^ a pair of gold spectacles — for his 
mother — ^I reckon. I heard him say they was for a lady. I 
asked for the rings, and the shop-boy gave me a string of brassy, 
ugly things — and says I — < I want a handsome one, sir, for my 
mistis.^ 

^ Your mistis says he. < Themes plenty good for her !’ 

<< < Are these the best you have ?’ says Mr. Lacy, sort o' 
frownin' and talkin’ like he was his master fifty times over. 

< No, sir — would you like to see some ?' says the boy, turnin' 
white. 

« * Bring them !' says Mr. Lacey ; and when they come, he 
told me, with the sweetest smile, and so respectful ! < These cost 

a great deal of money — do you know it ?’ So I showed him 
what I had, and he said < 'twould do. Bimeby, I picked out two, 
and could not tell which was the prettiest. I kept a-lookin’ at 
one, and then at 'tother, and says he, < Can’t you choose between 
them ?' 

« < No, sir,' says I. 

« < I think that the handsomest ;' says he, pintin' to one, and 
that's it you’ve got on your finger, this minute. Miss Ida. He 
seed that low-lived boy give me the right change, and when I 
curchyed and said, < I’m mightily obliged to you, sir / he said, 
'You are welcome,' just like I’d been the Governor! Wo 
colored folks know a gentleman when we see him, and he is a 
real born one." 

The ring was very elegant, and the blood mounted to Ida’s 
temple’s, as she toyed with it. 

<< Perhaps, it was not Mr. Lacy ?" said she, in a tone of 

15 


170 


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extreme indifference. Where had you met him, that you 
know him V* 

<< I never met him nowhar. I seed him one Sunday, when 
he walked home with you from church, and I was at the upstairs 
window, and once through the dining-room door when he was 
here to supper, and once — through the parlor window.^' 

<< Peeping ! Rachel ! If he had seen you, he would not think 
as highly of your manners, as you do of his.^' 

<< Peeping ! Law ! Miss Ida, them was sly glimpses, permis- 
cuous-like, you know. He warn’t a-gwine to catch me.^' 

A longer inspection of the ring. There was no blush this 
time, but the smile was happier. The motive was then as pure 
as the action was generous. The little shower had purified the 
murky atmosphere. This token of remembrance, at a moment 
when she believed herself forgotten, was none the less dear that 
the donor was a poor slave. It was the fruit of self-denying 
affection ; and had no sooner clasped her finger, than it acted as 
the Open Sesame to a store-house of untold riches. It has 
taught me more than one lesson,^^ she murmured. 

Rachel was garrulously happy. 

“ I do-clar. Miss Ida, you’ve been gettin’ prettier ever since I 
come in said she, standing off to survey the effect of her 
toilette. I hope thar’ll 'be a crowd at Mars’ John’s. Is it a 
dinin’-day ?” 

<<No — a family party.” 

<< That’s a pity ! I ’spect thar’s another present I It never 
rains but it pours.” 

The footman said Mr. Dana was below. Charley waited to 
escort her to his brother’s ; and Ida began to realise, as he paid 
the compliments of the season, in a style, eminently « Char- 
leyish,” — that Christmas had indeed come. 

« Christmas gift I Christmas gift ! cousin Ida,” shouted two 
infantine voices; and Charley the less, and Elle scampered 
down the porch-steps to salute her. << Now mamma ! now for 
the tree ! She is here !” 

« Oh ! Mrs. Dana ! have not they seen their tree ? What 
suspense for the dear creatures I” 

« It was their wish ; and their father would not consent that 
the door should be unlocked until the family were assembled.” 


* A L 0 N E 


171 


<< Here is the last straggler !” exclaimed Lynn, springing 
into the group, shaking hands with his friends, and kissing the 
children. We are all here V* 

At a given signal, the door of the mysterious room was un- 
folded, and revealed the tree j its precious load glittering and 
gay in the clear winter day. Headed by « papa,” and closed 
by the nurse and baby, the procession performed a circuit, and 
then formed a ring. Uncle Charley was distributor; accom- 
panying each gift by an appropriate remark. For Ida, there 
were a pair of ear-rings from John Dana ; a bracelet of fair 
hair, which did not require the simple “ Carry” upon the 
chased clasp, to signify from whose brow it had been shorn ; 
a handsomely-bound edition of Shelly’s works— Lynn’s taste; 
Charley gave a card case, a Chinese curiosity, and evaded her 
thanks and praises by pointing out a resemblance in the most 
grotesque figue, carved thereupon, himself, a circumstance, which 
he protested, induced him to select it. Among the white buds 
of a perpetual rose-tree, hung a card — File and Charley to 
their dear cousin ;” and Mrs. Dana finished the list with a rose- 
wood work-box, supplied with every implement of female 
industry. 

Is this being friendless ?” asked Ida, inly, looking at her 
acquisitions. << For the rest of the day, I will be grateful and 
contented.” 

The morning was spent in the nursery. On Christmas day, 
its door could not bar intruders ; there were no men or women ; 
all were children, Charley whipped his namesake’s top ; rocked 
the cradle ; and instructed File in domestic economy, as he 
helped arrange her baby-house. The dinner-bell, rung an hour 
earlier than usual, on account of the wee ones taking that meal 
with the big folks,” was faintly heard in the din of a famous 
game of romps. The afternoon was less noisy ; the children 
fell asleep, wearied with frolic ; the gentlemen walked out ; Mrs. 
Dana was busy; and so it was, that Ida sat alone in the 
drawing-room, at nightfall, watching the passing of the pink 
light from the clouds, and thinking — Fverything to gladden 
me, and yet ill at ease ! murmuring soul, be still !” And then 
she wished for the society of a calmer mind, that should speak 
peace to the heavings of her unquiet spirit; for the compre- 


172 


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tensive charity, the benign philosophy, which hoped for the best, 
and argued for the right — this was her version of the outgoing 
of the woman’s heart — Would he were here !” 

But Elle’s friends came early, and she had no time for higher 
thoughts than filling small mouths with bread and butter — 
run-the-thimble,” the vexed question of « how many miles 
to Babylon and Chicken-me-chicken-me-craney-crow pas- 
times, whose barbarous names cause the refined juveniles of this 
precocious ’53, to join their gloved hands in thanksgiving, that 
their lot was not cast in those times ! As the dignified master 
of the house deigned to participate in the ceremonies, we trust 
our heroine will not suffer a very grievous letting-down in the 
opinion of these formidable critics, for the prominent parts she 
assumed. A circle was ordered for Fox and goose.” Charley 
played Beynard, and Ida, goose the first. The children enjoyed, 
without fully understanding the game, and she had to keep the 
character longer than the laws prescribed. Bound and round 
they flew — circling and doubling — the spectators screaming their 
applause — and she ran directly against a gentlemen who was 
entering. Her impetus was such that she would have fallen, 
but for his extended arm. A laughing voice said something, 
unintelligible in her confusion. 

Oh I Mr. Lacy !” cried Elle. I was so afraid you wouldn’t 
come I” 

“ I promised — did I not ?” said he, stooping to kiss her. 
<‘Yes, sir, but I thought maybe you’d rather go to Miss 
Anna Talbot’s party, like Miss — ” 

Elle ! Elle! no, no !” whispered Ida, in time to suppress the 
name. 

You see I had rather be at yours he returned, without 
noticing the unfinished sentence. What are you playing if” 

“ ‘ Did you ever see a wild goose 
Sailing on the ocean V " 

sang Charley. 

“ ‘ The wild goose’s motion 

Was a mighty funny notion.’ ” 

he added, aside to Ida. 

No forced spirits now ! The innocent fun — the converse of 
the social circle, after the little ones had gone — the walk home. 


ALONE. 


173 


beneath the tremulous stars — the good night’' and pressure, 
whose thrill lingered in her fingers ’till sleep sealed her eyes — 
all were sources of unutterable pleasure — ^pleasures born from 
one influence — flowing from one presence. 

A month later, Josephine returned from an evening concert, 
with a violent toothache, the consequence of the sudden transition 
from the steaming hall to the ice-cold air without. She tossed 
and groaned in agony through the night ; by morning the pain 
abated, a relief for which she was wickedly ungrateful, when she 
beheld reflected in the mirror, a tumefaction of the cheek, nearly 
closing one eye, and otherwise marring the symmetry of her 
features. The pain came back at intervals during the day; 
and with fretfulness, threw her into a fever. Dr. Ballard was 
sent for. It was late in the evening when she awoke from the 
slumber, gained by the anodyne he administered. The rain was 
plashing against the window ; there was no other sound except 
a subdued murmur of distant voices. There were visitors in the 
parlor — who had ventured through the storm ? Her sharpened 
senses caught manly tones — tones she thought she recognised ; 
and then Ida’s rippling, joyous laugh smote her unwilling ear. 
The conversation became lower and more serious; and she 
could endure no more. Unmindful of health and prudence, she 
hurried on a dressing-gown, wrapped a shawl about her head, 
and glided down stairs, as stealthily as a cat. The front room 
only was warmed and lighted, but the folding-doors were ajar. 
Mr. Lacy stood by the mantel, hat it hand, yet in no hurry to 
depart. He was playing with a rosebud he had plucked from a 
vase near, but as unconscious of its beauty as of the lateness of the 
hour. The expression with which he regarded the earnest speaker 
before him was not to be mistaken. It even seemed that he 
would have it understood, for a proud smile trembled over his 
mouth as her eye avoided his. 

Josephine felt turned to stone. By a singular fatality, she 
had, up to this time, remained ignorant of the growing intimacy 
between these two. We have seen that many of their inter- 
views were unknown to her, although some of them occurred in 
her very presence ; and Ida, in obedience to Lynn’s caution, had 
guarded against any appearance of rivalship. Now, jealousy, 
and perception awoke together — at one sweeping glance back- 

15 * 


174 


ALONE. 


ward, she saw herself slighted — foiled — duped ! aud she grew 
faint at the sight of the frightful results of her lack of vigilance, 
which rushed overwhelmingly upon her mind. Her native 
shrewdness soon came to her aid. Matters were not so despe- 
rate. There was no word of love; — she breathed more freely. 

Not yet! not yetT’ she hissed, under her breath; — and the 
small hands clenched in passionate resolve, as she added — 
never The leave-taking was full of feeling, but friends 
parted as kindly. The outer door clanged to ; and Ida sank into 
her chair. Buried in the cushions, she sat, looking into the 
blaze, a smile of ineffable tenderness illumining her face ; her 
cheeks bright with unwonted scarlet. The patter of the rain 
upon the panes but lulled her into deeper reverie. And in con- 
trast to a foreground so rich and warm, in its glowing colors and 
balmy air, and dreams of love and hope — was the dark, chill 
background, with its shape of evil, hideous in her distorted fea- 
tures and glowering hatred. Ida stooped suddenly. It was to 
pick up the bruised bud Morton had dropped. She looked 
around hurriedly, and with a more vivid blush, raised it to her 
lips, and hid it in her bosom. 

Rose-buds are not the only things which are played with for 
a time, then trampled under foot, as you shall learn ere long, 
my love-lorn damsel V* said the wily schemer, stealing back to 
her chamber. 

“ With us, now, it is war to the death 1’^ 


CHAPTER XV. 

Nothing appeared less likely, at this period, than the fulfil- 
ment of Lynn’s prognostications of his destiny. He collected 
encouragement and praise at every turn. A Bayard in society — 
a Raphael at the easel, he bore a distinguished part in the lioni- 
zation of the day. He sped well, too, in his wooing. A quick 
fancy and impressible heart could hardly resist the attractions 
of his person and genius ; and the spice of co’quetry, generally 
predominant in Ellen’s disposition, lay dormant, as she heark- 
ened to the voice of love. She made but one reservation in 


ALONE. 


175 


pledging him her troth — that their engagement should he secret. 
He would have had it proclaimed through the land — he so joyed 
in the bliss he had won ; but he bowed to the scarcely uttered 
wish, respecting the maiden modeSty that dictated the request. 
To Ida and Charley it was divulged. He would not accept a 
happiness they were forbidden to share. For a few brief weeks 
this knew no shade or diminution; but a change came. Ida 
discovered it; but he was silent, and she would not extort con- 
fidence. It was a trial to see his clouded countenance and fitful 
spirits'; yet she knew his peculiarly sensitive organization, and 
hoped the evil was magnified by its medium. In this hope she 
finally persuaded him to speak. 

They met at a Fancy Fair. Ida was in an embowered recess, 
Mr. Lacy for a companion, and Charley hanging around to play 
propriety. Lynn entered alone, and did not attach himself to 
any person or party. He marched from end to end of the room, 
with folded arms, and a dogged look, too foreign to him, not to 
impress one unpleasantly. He perceived Ida after awhile, and 
acknowledged her presence by touching his hat, with no loss of 
gloominess. Ida was dktrait ; even Mr. Lacy failed to charm ; 
and he was aware of it. He guessed, too, from the direction of 
her eyes, the working of her thoughts, and proposed a visit to 
the refreshment table, which stood in the path of the prome- 
naders. Lynn could not brush by without speaking. The first 
tone of Ida's voice affected him. The dull black of his eyes 
became lustrous, and the long lashes fell over them to conceal 
the momentary weakness. She would not let him go. She 
asked him questions without number or meaning, not waiting for 
answers, until she had eaten her ice ; when she gave her glass 
to Mr. Lacy, and with an apology, his eye said was unnecessary, 
took Lynn's arm. He confessed all, as she had determined he 
should. It was a common tale; the scrupulousness of a love, 
made up of delicacy and truth, and the thoughtless trifling of a 
girl who felt her power; — so she explained it, but the young 
lover mourned the death of his first-born hope. 

<< I would as soon speak lightly of my dead sister, as tamper 
with her affections," said he. Your excuse that she does these 
things to try mine — if you are right — ^proves that she never 
loved me." 


176 


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<< But wlij did I say she applied the test ? In girlish caprice 
— foolish enough — but harmless as to intention. Have you for- 
gotten what women are in their ‘ hour of ease if danger or 
sorrow menaced you, she would stand by you to the last. She 
loves you, Lynn, — am assured of this.^^ 

Not so am I. I called there this evening. She had pro- 
mised to accompany me hither, but she was ^ engaged with com- 
pany!’ Those addlepates, Pemberton and Talbot were there, 
doling out their senseless prattle ; and she was gracious to them, 
repellant to me If Pemberton were not a puppy, I would not 
sleep before I crossed swords with him. She waltzed with him 
last night. I had told her that I would not invite any lady, 
whom I respected, to engage in that most disgusting of dances. 
Conceive of my feelings, when, within the hour, I saw her whirl- 
ing down the hall in his arms I And the coxcomb’s insufferable 
impudence ! if he thwarts me again, I will cane him !” 

You will not! Go and see Ellen to-morrow, when there is 
no one to annoy you, by preventing a private interview. Set 
before her the unkindness, the want of generosity apparent in 
her conduct ; assert your rights with dignity, and your resolu- 
tion to uphold them.” 

I would not pain her, Ida. She has chosen the easiest 
method of undeceiving me; better this, than a life-time of 
misery to both. She said, the other day, to a gentle reproach 
for an open slight, which would have offended a vainer man, 
mortally, that she did it to mislead others. ^ A young lady,’ 
she remarked, < sinks into a cypher, if it is suspected that she 
is betrothed. I have not had my lawful amount of admiration 
yet.’ ” 

< Ellen !’ said I, < I have loved you as man never loved 
women before ; have believed you pure and high-minded. If I 
thought that the despicable coquetry you insinuate, caused you 
to insist upon the concealment of our engagement, I would 
trumpet it to the world, and then break it myself 1’ ” 

(( Lynn, remember where you are ! You are too harsh ; it was 
a jest.” 

• The manner displeased me most, and to-night, when I saw 
those fops — could I be patient ?” 

Their conversation and saunter were prolonged. 


ALONE. 


17T 


<^Are you going home to-night?’^ asked Josephine, gaily, 
hailing them in one of their rounds. They are extinguishing 
the lamps.^^ 

Ida changed color as she saw that she had Mr. Lacy^s arm. 
Lynn observed it, and waited for her. 

You are fast walkers — go on,^’ said Josephine, at the door. 
As they passed, Ida had a view of Mr. Lacyii features. They 
were so pale and- rigid, that she started. He answered her look 
of apprehension with one that froze her blood. 

What had she done to draw down that stern, yet sorrowful 
rebuke ? 

“ The look you wear 
A heart may heal or break.” 

Her pillow was damp that night. 

Mr. Thornton had obtained a signal victory in his first import- 
ant cause. Already, his legal acumen and oratorical powers 
marked him in the public eye for usefulness and fame ; and on 
the evening after the delivery of the verdict, he called together 
a band of select spirits to rejoice with him. The banquet was 
well ordered ; comprising the rarities of the season, and a variety 
of wines, varied by the introduction of agreeable non-intoxicants, 
coffee, tea, iced sherbet, etc. These unwonted accompaniments of 
a bachelor supper were looked upon with an evil eye by some of 
the guests. They were jealous of innovations which might end in 
puritanical abstinence ; and their fears were further excited that 
three of their small number preferred the less stimulating beve- 
rages. That Mr. Lacy^s example should be copied by Mr. Comp- 
ton, a fellow-student, was not surprising, as they were intimate, 
and known as members of the same church ; but at Charles 
Dana^s rejection of the social glass, there was a hum of excla- 
mations and inquiries, which was calmed by his imperturbability, 
and the polite tact of the host. Morton could not unriddle the 
conduct of his friend, for he knew that his most trivial action 
was not meaningless. << Not a convert, Charley he said, when 
the rest were in full cry after some inspiring subject. 

Unfortunately, no. It is from a motive of expediency that 
I abstain to-night.'^ 

They sat together, and as he spoke, Mr. Lacy chanced to 
remark Lynn, who was opposite. He drank deeply, but his 


178 


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potations had not had time to ignite the fire that burned in his 
eyes and cheeks. His talk was a volcanic eloquence, reckless as 
to course and consequence ; and his laugh had the peal of a 
maniac^s yell. In real alarm, Morton turned to his neighbor. 
Charley was on the alert; not outwardly — he might have been 
more grave and taciturn than common, but there were no evi- 
dences of anxiety^ Morton divined his feelings, by a glance he 
saw exchanged between him and his heated friend; a look of 
warning and appeal on one side, — of anguish, scornful in its 
bitterness, on the other, — and the torrent rolled on as before. 

During the giving of toasts, Mr. Lacy and Charley fell into a 
quiet chat, only pausing to lift their glasses in courtesy to the 
authors, ignorant, most of the time, of the sentiment proposed. 
Lynn was more sedate ; from delirium he was relapsing into a 
comatose state, when he was brought to his feet by a toast to his 
art, coupled with a neatly turned compliment to himself, from 
Mr. Thornton. His unpremeditated reply was Beautiful and 
touching. He was under the very spur of genius ; rich meta- 
phors, apt classical allusions, and delicate pathos poured from 
his lips, as thoughts from his brain ; his rapt hearers scarcely 
conscious that he employed the machinery of words. The 
applause that succeeded the last musical echo was deafening. 
For a moment, the wild glare that had distressed Morton, dis- 
appeared, and with a happy, grateful smile, he bowed his thanks 
for this spontaneous tribute of approbation and regard. 

<^Egadr^ said Pemberton, “you have mistaken your calling, 
Holmes — ^you had better burn up your canvass, and take to 
stump-speaking, you’d make more money by it.” 

Angry frowns and rebuking eyes were directed to the drunken 



“If stumps and blockheads claim kindred, I shall not need to 
go far to exercise my vocation,” said Lynn, hotly. 

“ Ha ! ha I” laughed the other, with a violent affectation of 
derision. 

“ Don’t be frightened, gentlemen ! Mr. Holmes and myself 
have wrestled upon another battle-field, and I can afford to forgive 
him, from the soreness of his defeat. Your friend and instruct- 
ress, that loud-tongued virago, Ida Eoss, could not have 
uttered — ” 


ALONE. 


179 


Like a wounded panther, Ljnn cleared the table at a bound, 
and grasped his throat. A general rush was made to the spot, 
and they were parted before either sustained serious injury. 
Pemberton had drawn a dirk at the attack, but it was wrested 
from him by Mr. Lacy. Reconciliation was impossible in the 
excited state of the combatants. Charley prudently withdrew 
his friend, relying upon time and reflection to prepare the mind 
of each for overtures and concessions. Lynn did not speak until 
they reached his room ; then, extricating his arm from Charley’s 
hold, he demanded in a high tone, what had been his object in 
terminating the conflict. If not finished there, you know it 
must bo somewhere.” 

<< I do not see the necessity,” was the reply. << It is a drunken 
broil, of which you will be ashamed to-morrow. No man in his 
senses would have - noticed him as you did. He shall have a 
cow-hiding for his last speech; I would not disgrace a more 
honorable weapon by using it against him. I am mortified, Lynn 
— I hoped you were learning to control those childish fits of 
passion.” 

« Am I to be crossed and bullied forever by a meddling fool ? 
Is it not enough that he has helped to wreck my peace, but he 
must taunt me with it ?” cried, Lynn passionately. “ He ought 
not to live, and I do not care to !” 

« You certainly are not fit to die.” said Charley composedly, 
« or you would not rave so like a madman. Be sane for five 
minutes; by what means has your happiness been put in his 
power ?” 

Lynn was a humored, wayward child, and this cold severity did 
more to quiet him than an hour’s rhetorical pleading. Charley 
listened with knitting brows, to a rehearsal of his story to Ida, 
and an account of that day’s interview with Ellen. She was 
dressed for a ride with Mr. Pemberton, and exasperated by this 
new example of her disrespect to him in encouraging a man he 
despised — Lynn had spoke hastily — angrily. She retorted with 
equal warmth, and after a turbulent scene they parted. Pem- 
berton arrived as he was leaving, and his malicious twinkle told 
that he comprehended and enjoyed the state of affairs. Like 
Ida, Charley had never heartily approved of this match ; but his 
indignation towards Ellen was none the less on this account. Ho 


180 


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saw, in her behaviour, the most culpable flirting, arjd he said so 
to Ljnn. He shook his head sadly. 

Convince me of that and you destroy my faith in woman. 
No 1 I believe she once fancied she loved me ; but I have become 
obnoxious to her. It is my fate. The last dream of hope is 
over — I have nothing to live for now.^^ 

He covered his face with his hands. Charley remained with 
him all night, an uninvited visitor. His host neglected him 
entirely, never speaking, and seemingly unmindful of his pre- 
sence. Whenever Charley awoke, he heard him pacing the 
floor, or saw the outline of his figure, dark and still, at the 
window, gazing into the black night. 

« You will not do anything in the settlement of this nonsensi- 
cal matter until you confer with me requested Charley, on 
saying Grood bye.^^ 

shall not move in the afiair,^^ was the laconic rejoinder. 

<< You will acquaint me with Pemberton’s proposals 

<< If I think proper — yes — you shall know in good time.” 

Charley was going out, and did not catch the exact import of 
these words. He proceeded with the business of the day, com- 
paratively at ease. Knowing Pemberton to be an arrant coward 
at heart, bully as he was, he did not fear a renewal of the sub- 
ject from him. 

Ida was alone that evening. Mr. Heed was in the country ; 
and Josephine, having waited until visiting hours were over, 
went off to bed. Ida liked to sit up late, but she usually pre- 
ferred the snug comfort of her room to the parlors. To-night 
she lingered over a book, reading and musing, with a tincture of 
gloom in her thought-pictures. She was pondering upon the 
instability of earthly plans and hopes. “ How true that the 
brighest light produces the deepest shadows !” The words arose 
unexpectedly to her lips. In the loosely-linked chain of reverie, 
she did not know that they had their origin in the memory of a 
slighter circumstance than a word — in a look. 

Kachel was coming to see after her, and hearing a ring as she 
tripped by the front door, opened it. A man handed her a 
package saying, briefly, For Miss Ross,” and instantly 
vanished. Ida saw Lynn’s hand in the superscription of the 
bulky parcel, and broke the seal. Two letters were within it ; 


ALONE. 181 

one directed to Ellen Morris ; the other, — enclosing a miniature 
— to herself. 

My best, truest friend she read, I cannot trust myself 
to speak the farewell my heart indites to one who has been a 
loving and faithful sister to me. It would unman me, and I have 
occasion for all my manliness at this juncture. I have no regret 
in the prospect of leaving a world where my horoscope was cast 
in clouds and storm; — I cannot undergo the pangs of seeing 
your grief. Destiny will be accomplished, Ida, however, insig- 
nificant the instrument with which it works. Charley will 
inform you of the baseness of that which has severed the one 
shining thread of my existence. Heaven grant you may never 
know the hatefulness of life, when that for which you thought, 
toiled, lived, is torn from you! I have struck the reptile who 
trailed over my Eden-flowers, and reared his head insultingly 
amid the ruin he helped to effect, and in his unspent malice he 
would sting me to death. The sting of death is gone ! there will 
be unintentional mercy in the stroke that releases me. I have 
been mad — ^I am calmer now. If I know my own heart, I wish 
him no evil ; I shall not attempt his life — I will not imbrue my 
hands in the blood of the murdered. 

<< You will give the enclosed to my poor Ellen — < my Ellen 
she has forbidden me to call her by that name. It may be, she 
will pity, when no more, the wretch she could not love when 
living. 

<< My sister and friend I what can I say to you ? Forgive my 
ingratiude in being willing to die before I have made some feeble 
return for your goodness ! Will you wear or keep this image of 
him, by whom you were never forgotten — not in the death- 
agony ? I have written to Charley, but he will not receive the 
letter until all is over. I was unwilling to risk this — its con- 
tents are too sacred. You are dreaming in your innocent slum- 
bers, of years of peace and joy — I shall not close my eyes 
but in the sleep that knows no awakening to care and woe. < The 
blessing of him who is ready to perish’ be upon you I 

Lynn.” 

Ida’s impulse was to scream for help ; but ere her palsied 
tongue did her bidding, the futility of all attempts to save him 

16 


182 


ALONE. 


stared upon her ; the hour — nearly midnight ; the illness of their 
man-servant j Mr. Bead's absence; her ignorance of Lynn's 
locality or plans beyond his suicidal intention — towered, frown- 
ing spectres, mountain-high, each with its sepulchral “ Impos- 
sible !" Some women would have swooned — some sunk down 
to weep in impotent despair ; — the shock over, her energetic 
spirit rallied to meet the emergency. He should be saved ! at 
the peril of her life, if need be — what were personal convenience 
and safety ? 

Charley — the sagacious, collected friend — what mortal could 
do, he would — she must see him. Rachel had not spoken, terri- 
fied by her mistress’ expression and manner. It was a relief to 
aid her in any way;. she brought, without a second’s parley, the 
cloak and hood Ida ordered, and equipped herself to attend her. 
^‘Take the key," said Ida, as they went out of the door; and 
they sped on their way. The night was dark, and for whole 
squares not a light was visible. Half of the distance to Mr. 
Dana's was traversed without encountering a single being, when 
they approached a lighted door-way, in which two gentlemen 
were standing. Fearing to attract their attention by her hurried 
gait, Ida slackened her pace, and pulled her hood over her face. 
She heard one say — If the spasms do not return he may not 
want watchers to-morrow night;" and a feeling of security stole 
upon her. The friends of the suffering would not molest her, 
whose mission was one of mercy. A few squares further on, 
they were met by a watchman. Rachel made out his badge of 
office through the obscurity, and pressed to her mistress' side 
The man stopped. His keen eye discerned her color. 

Your pass!" said he, confronting Rachel. 

Her mistress is with her," answered Ida, emboldened by the 
exigency. 

He bowed respectfully, and pursued his beat. Ida’s heart 
throbbed loudly, but she stifled her fears by a reconsideration of 
Lynn's extremity of danger, — it was no time for nervous fail- 
ings." Rachel did not possess such a tonic, and had seen every 
shadow, heard every rustle of the breeze. 

Before their adventure with the dreaded << guard," she had 
known that one of the gentlemen above-mentioned had taken 
the same route with themselves ; keeping, however^ upon the 


alone. 


183 


other side of the street ) and after Ida’s ready response removed 
her apprehension of ^^the cage” and Mayor’s court, she saw him 
still upon her track — worse ! crossing towards them. Overcome 
with terror, she clutched her mistress’ arm, and by a frantic 
gesture, directed her to the object of alarm. He was within six 
feet of them ; and startled by his proximity, and the fright of her 
attendant, she stood still. A minute of breathless suspense, and 
the stranger was at her side. 

Miss Ross,” he said, in a low but confident tone. <<This is 
a strange hour for a lady to be in the street with such attend- 
ance !” 

His stern, cold address could not repress her thrilling pleasure. 

Ob, Mr. Lacy \” she exclaimed, clinging to his arm, and 
giving way, for the first time, to tears. Life and death depend 
upon my action — the life of one very dear to us both — you would 
not reproach me if you knew — ” 

“Ida ! dear Ida !” said he, mindful only of her sorrow. “ Can 
there be reason for thts excessive grief ? Your fears have misled 
you. Of whom do you speak 

She could not speak quite yet, but her sobs were subsiding 
under his soothing. 

“ Will you not trust yourself and our friend to me, Ida 

She looked up. “ Yes,” she said, simply. 

He put her hand within his arm. “ First, tell me where you 
are going.” 

“ To Mr. Dana’s.” 

“ For what purpose ?” 

“ I have something to tell Charley.” 

“I will be the bearer of your message. Let me see you home; 
— ^you shall give it to me on the way.” 

She obeyed submissively as a child. 

“ Now !” said he, as they turned back. 

“ I had a note from Lynn to-night. It is worded so ambi- 
guously, — contains so many allusions I do not understand, that 
I can glean but this — he has quarrelled, and been challenged ; — 
they fight to-morrow, where or when I do not know, nor the 
name of his opponent. It is all a horrible mystery.” 

It was more clear to him. He related the incident of the 
altercation at supper, suppressing Pemberton’s use of her name* 

“ Oh ! can it be ! he will not stoop so low ! And ho will die I 


184 


ALONE. 


lie declares his solemn determination not to resist the attack. 
His life is thrown away I” 

“ Not if man can prevent it — I promise you this much. When 
did you get this letter 

« Not an hour since.^^ 

Why did you not send to Charley or me V* 

Mr. Read is away, and John sick.^^ 

‘‘ What is the tone of the note ? revengeful V* 

Oh, no! he says expressly — ^ If I know my own heart, I 
wish him no evil.^ He writes, weary of life, and relieved at the 
thought of getting rid of it.^^ 

< Gretting rid’ of the life God has bestowed !” repeated he, 
indignantly. << Forgive me, Ida I yet yow cannot tolerate this 
sentiment ! Does he believe in an hereafter ? Does he allude 
to it?” 

No — hut he does believe — I have thought, sometimes, with 
more than the intellect. Do not judge him hardly; — he has 
suffered much of late; more from morbid sensibility than actual 
troubles, but he imagined his woes too heavy to be borne. He 
is not fit to cope with sorrow.” 

<< None of us are, ’till we have been taught the uses of afflic- 
tion. This recklessness is, you think, more an impulse than a 
purpose ?” 

I am sure of it.” 

(( He will be more manageable then,” he replied encouragingly. 

The wind blew roughly, and he folded her cloak around her. 

I recognised you by this, and your walk, and fearing lest 
you might encounter rudeness in your nocturnal ramble, kept 
you in sight. I heard your voice at the watchman’s challenge, 
and concluded to declare myself your protector. I have been 
sitting with a sick friend.” 

Ida did not know herself when they stopped at the door — her 
uneasiness all gone, and with it the unnatural strength that 
impelled her venturesome step — he had assumed the burden ; 
and he was so strong and sanguine, it did not oppress him. 
With the mild authority which had checked her tears and 
reversed her design, he bade her dismiss anxiety, and rest 
quietly until morning, when he would send her glad tidings.” 
And with the same child-like docility she repaired to her chamber, 
and betook herself to slumber. 


ALONE. 


185 


CHAPTER XVI. 

In the bosom of the forest, the tall oaks girdling it, like a 
band of mailed warriors, changed by the spell of beauty from 
assailants to a guard, lay a little glade, free from brush or sapling; 
its tender green carpet freshening in the March sun. The trees 
loved the dance of the shadows over that sylvan ball-room, and 
they revelled there all the day, and at evening, slept upon the 
turf in the moonlight. The clouds of the night had rolled away 
before a westerly breeze, and the forest was full of sweet and 
pleasant sounds. The oriole had come in advance of the season 
to look for his last year’s nest ; the woodpecker thrummed upon 
a hollow trunk ; and the robins, too busy for more than an occa- 
sional note, flew about with sticks and mud in their bills. The 
teaming earth was quick with vitality ; you could hear the un- 
furling of the grass-blades, the rustle of the leaf-buds as they 
broke ground. 

An unharmonious sound interrupted the concert — the rattle 
of a carriage. It stopped ; then another drove up; and six gen- 
tlemen, three from either side, entered the glade,’ saluting each 
other as they advanced. Lynn’s friends were Mr. Thornton and 
Mr. Villet ; Pemberton, Talbot and another of << the set,” by the 
name of Watson. Without wasting time in irrelevant chat, the 
seconds walked apart for consultation. Pemberton, with a braga- 
docio air, offered his cigar-case to his companion ; and nothing 
abashed by his dignified gesture of refusal, planted himself 
against a tree, and began to smoke. Lynn paced the little area 
in silence. He was haggard to ghastliness ; the effect of a night 
of sleeplessness and racking thought. He was brave j his nerves 
did not tremble in the hour of peril ; but the soul, forced, before 
its time, upon the verge of an unknown sea, shook with a name- 
less dread of the punishment of its temerity. Early teachings, 
and the convictions of later years weighed upon him. A tiny 
wild flower blossomed by his foot — he plucked it, and pressed 
its petals open with his finger. Whose hand had fashioned it ? 
Whose sun kissed it into bloom ? Whose goodness granted it 

16 * 


186 


ALONE. 


this lovely home? It owed its little life to the Father, from 
whom he had derived his poet-soul ; it had fulfilled the end of 
its creation ; — he was about to hurl his gifts, a million times 
more precious, into the face of the Giver. He would gladly 
have courted other thoughts, but these would come ; and long- 
forgotten texts floated before him ; apparently without a cause 
to call them forth. One met him, wherever he looked — “ Des- 
pisest thou the riches of his forbearance, and love and long- 
sufifering?’' And as he repeated, ^‘despisest thou” — another — 

Behold, ye despisers, and wonder and perish!” These words 
were upon his tongue, as Mr. Villet put the pistol into his hand, 
and motioned him into his place. 

Pemberton had sent the challenge, with no thought of its 
being accepted, counting upon the interference of Lynn’s friends. 
Mr. Thornton had waited upon him with his principal’s answer, 
settling time, place and weapons; driving him into a corner, 
from whence he could only escape by following out his own 
proposition. A strained sense of honour was Lynn’s birth- 
right. His father had died upon the field ; and repudiation of 
the duellist’s code involved censure of him. Thus they stood, 
face to face, upon this unclouded, fragrant spring morning, to 
wash out in blood the memory of a trifle which would have 
perished of itself in this time, but for the pains they had taken 
to perpetuate it. Oh, Virginial most fondly loved of mothers ! 
how often has thy soil drank the blood of sons, the tears of 
daughters, whose lives and weal have been sacrificed to this 
pitiless Moloch 1 

Mr. Talbot explained that the signal was to be the dropping 
of a handkerchief, after he should have counted three slowly. 
Mr. Villet held the handkerchief “ One — two — ” said Tal- 
bot, deliberately. Lynn had only to see the murder in his 
antagonist’s eye, when a report rang through the forest, and 
he felt a sharp pain in his breast and arm. 

“ Treachery I” shouted Thornton, excitedly. Shoot him 
down. Holmes ! he deserves a dog’s death !” 

Lynn’s hot blood was up — he raised his arm. The loaded and 
discharged pistols were whirling in the air — and Charley Dana 
and Morton Lacy threw themselves between the combatants. 

“ At whose instance was this meeting brought about, gentle- 
men ?” questioned the former, peremptorily, scanning the group. 


ALONE. 187 

The challenge came from my principal/^ answered Watson, 
with a brazen look. 

“Will you honour me by a minute’s private conversation, 
sir?” asked Charley, facing Pemberton, with a sneer seen by 
him alone. “ You need not be afraid,” he pursued, not receiving 
an immediate reply. “/ do not carry concealed weapons.” 

Pemberton went aside with him very reluctantly. He 
respected, because he feared Charley. Without a correct under- 
standing of his character, he stood in awe of the keen ridicule 
and calm courage, for which his blustering was no match. 

“ You must be at a loss for something to do, that you covet 
such business as this began Charley. “ I have no objection 
to your blowing your brains out — and any coroner in the country 
would decide that an inquest would be ‘ much-ado about nothing/ 
but it is another matter when you try, in cold blood, to take the 
life of one, who has some pretensions to the name of man. You 
are a cowardly poltroon i If you are on the look-out for insults, 
there is one, if truth can insult. Two policemen are at a little 
distance. The law will have a more serious job than I antici- 
pated. There are five witnesses to the fact, that you fired in 
advance of the time. Join this to your provocation of the other 
night, and your having sent the challenge; and it will not 
require a Philadelphia lawyer to make out a case, which will 
put a stop to your murderous propensities for awhile. Now, sir, 
what do you propose to do?” 

The bully shook visibly. “ Really, Mr. Dana, this is an 
extraordinary procedure. You and I have no quarrel.” 

“ I beg your pardon — men of honour do not pass over such 
remarks as I have indulged in. You did not hear me, perhaps; 
I said, and say now, you are a pitiful poltroon ! shaking in your 
shoes, this minute, at the prospect of the penitentiary, and the 
loss of your soap-locks. But before I give you into the keeping 
of your lawful guardians, I have a proposal to make on my own 
account. I came here with the intention of giving you a casti- 
gation for your impertinent mention of a lady. I will not fight 
a duel with you, but if you resist, I will take care you do not 
shoot me. I meant to horse-whip you, and I will — within an 
inch of your life, if you do not make an ample apology. You 
cannot bully or blarney me, Pemberton. We know each other.” 


188 


ALONE. 


In abject terms, he declared that he had the highest venera- 
tion for Mr. Dana^s friend, Miss Ross; he was in wine at the 
time spoken of, and was unaware, until told of it, that he had 
mentioned her — 

« That will do!’^ interposed Charley. <^Are you ready to 
rejoin your friends?'^ 

You will not do me this great injury, Mr. Dana! think of 
the exposure — the disgrace ! A duel is an honourable affair, if 
carried out; hut when it takes a turn like this, you will admit 
it looks confoundedly mean.’^ 

Charley could not but smile at his ludicrously pathetic tone. 

Will you bind yourself to behave better to your superiors — 
Mr. Holmes included — -if I help you out of the scrape 

The pledge was eagerly given. 

<< Your best plan will be to state to the company that, in con- 
sequence of explanations made by me, you retract the challenge, 
and likewise the offensive remark that provoked Mr. Holmes to 
assault you. Offer ypur hand to him, with the best grace you 
can muster; jump into your carriage — and you shall not be 
pursued.’^ 

The seconds were huddled together, talking ef the novel phase 
of the affairs ; Lynn and Morton walking to and fro ; the latter 
speaking earnestly, while Lynn’s averted face showed he was not 
unmoved. Pemberton obeyed instructions to the letter ; and 
with a trepidation and hurry which nearly betrayed Charley into 
a disgrace of the dignity of the occasion. After a grasp at 
Lynn’s hand, he bowed hastily, summoned his attendants, and 
disappeared among the •trees. The crack of the driver’s whip 
proclaimed his departure. Thornton and Villet were profuse 
in their inquries, but they were little wiser for Charley’s replies. 
An exclamation from Morton interrupted them. 

You are wounded!” said he, pointing to Lynn’s arm, from 
which the blood was oozing. 

<< Only a scratch,” replied he. 

Charley ripped up his sleeve ; uncovering a flesh wound of 
no great depth. The ball had passed between his side and arm. 
grazing both ; — its aim was the heart. 

If I had seen this sooner !” said CharRy, involuntarily. 

What if you had ?” inquired Lynn. 


ALONE. 


189 


He made no reply, but proceeded to bind up the wound. 
<< Gentlemen I” said he, when he had done; — your carriage 
and breakfast are waiting. I take it, you’ have nothing more 
on hand this morning.” 

Thornton and Villet bowed, half-offended; Lynn lingered. 
<< How are you going back he asked of Morton, but looking 
at Charley. 

Our horses are not far off,” answered the former, kindly. 

We will see you again in an hour or two.” 

Coming!” responded Lynn, to his friends’ impatient call. 
He looked again to Charley’s grave face, beseechingly and 
timidly ; but could not summon courage to break the silence. 

Do not punish him too severely, Charley,” said Morton. 
He turned from him without speaking. He had never seen him 
so affected before. They were alone in the glade; and the 
birds, silenced for a time by human voices, were heard again 
twittering in the boughs. Charley spoke at length. 

I have been deceived, Lacy. I thought I knew men, and 
was prepared for any inconsistency ; but if I had been told that 
the man, cherished for years as a brother, would mislead me 
purposly in a matter of vital importance to us both, I would not 
have credited it. I had his promise, or what amounted to a 
promise, that he would not stir without consulting me. What 
weakness!” he continued, more agitated, ‘Uo abandon fame and 
friends and life, because of a fancied slight from a woman !” 

Yet are we guiltless of similiar failings ?” said Morton, 
impressively. Have there not been times when we too were 
impatient — despairing — for no more weighty cause? My dear 
Charley, let us judge leniently, errors into which we might have 
fallen, but for greater strength or less powerful temptation. 
Disapproval and forgiveness are not incompatible.” 

“You have witnessed the one — will you be the bearer of the 
other?” asked Charley, trying to smile. “ I will not oblige him 
to ask it. He has had humiliation enough for one day.” 

Mr. Lacy’s first care, upon their return to the city, was to 
dispatch a note t6 Ida. It merely announced the success of their 
expedition ; the means adopted to secure it, she gathered from 
Charley. They had gone together, first to Lynn’s then to 
Pemberton’s lodgings, when Charley had been informed of the 


190 


ALONE. 


project meeting. They were reported << not at home.” They 
then hit upon the unpromising expedient of going to every hack- 
stand in the city, to ascertain, if possible, at what time the party 
was to start in the morning, and its route. They failed, in two 
or three cases to arouse the keepers ; and from others received 
unimportant and surly replies. Charley had just asked, 
you mean to give it up and been answered by a firm Never!” 
when a negro bustled by them. Morton seized him by the 
shoulder, and led him to an apothecary’s lamp. 

I thought so !” 

I’ve got a pass. Let me go I” .said the fellow, struggling. 

^^Not until I know where you have been. You are Mr. 
Talbot’s servant — ^you may gain something, and shall not lose, 
by answering me civilly. What were you sent for ?” 

By smooth and harsh words, he was brought to acknowledge 
that his young master” having had company all the evening, 
had forgotten, until late, to send him to a livery-stable to engage 
a carriage for five o’clock next morning. 

Who is with him, besides Mr. Pemberton ?” inquired 
Mr. Lacy. 

<< Mr. Watson, sir.” 

<< How far are they to go, after crossing the river ?” 

Lor 1 Massa ! how you recon I know ?” 

No trifling, sir I If I wanted to create mischief, you have 
said enough. Tell me everything, or I will go at once to your 
master 1” 

The man instantly named their destination, which his master 
had let slip in his hearJhg ^ and added that they wore fixing 
pistols.” The information was corroboratd by a call upon the 
liveryman, and they acted upon it. The delay, which was so 
near being fatal, arose from their ignorance of a newer and 
shorter road than they chose. 

How Lacy guessed their intentions, I cannot imagine,” said 
Charley. He would not entrust to me the name of his infor- 
mant; and Lynn is as much in the dark. He brought your 
letter to the door after he was sure you had Retired and mine 
was left upon his desk. But Lacy is discreet, from principle, 
not from caprice.” 

Ho is,” said Ida with heightened color, a If any stigma 
attaches to the informer, it must rest upon me.” 


ALONE. 


191 


*^Just like him, noble-hearted and faithful exclaimed 
Charley, when her story was ended. Shall you tell Lynn V' 
Yes — if only to show him how his friends love him. He 
may view it as a breach of confidence, but I had rather he should 
reproach me, than suspect the innocent.^^ 

Whether he reproached her or not, the revelation did not 
diminish his regard for her. Except at their first agitating 
interview, he never adverted to the unfinished duel; but he 
seemed drawn to her by a new tie, in the recollection of her 
readiness to adventure so much in his behalf. Ellen Morris left 
town for a visit to Petersburg, the day after the rupture : — left 
without a message or line of penitence or conciliation. Lynn 
did not complain, but his moodiness subsided into a pensiveness, 
illumined by the flashes of his former animation, like the sparkle 
of smouldering embers. 

It was during one of these gleams that he spent the evening 
at the rendezvous of what Josephine styled the Dana clique.^' 
John Dana and his amiable wife were great favorites of his and 
Mr. Lacy’s. Their friendly calls may have been more frequent 
because it was Ida’s chief visiting place. Mr. Dana was in New 
York, and she had dined and taken tea with her friend. 

Lynn came in with Charley, and the latter, excusing himself 
for an hour after supper, left Ida and the young artist together. 

« I have been thinking lately, how sublime a thing is phi- 
lanthropy,” said Lynn, throwing himself with boyish abandon, 
upon the rug at her feet. “I welcome this train of thought 
as a sign, that I am growing less selfish, for I have been 
sadly, sinfully selfish, Ida — madly intent upon my schemes, 
my happiness — forgetting that God placed me in the world 
to benefit others. Lacy was in my studio to-day, and we had 
a talk upon this subject. He says there is always a reflex tide 
of the happiness we send forth to those around us; a purer, 
truer joy than self-gratification. ^In this respect,’ he obseerved, 
< we can best imitate the example of our Supremre Benefactor.’ 
Imitate our Creator, Ida ! that is something worth living for.” 

«You have much besides, to make life precious, Lynn. I 
remember when it seemed worthless to me ; when I thought I 
had tasted all the sweetness it possessed — I have changed my 
opinion since.” 


192 


ALONE. 


Ah ! but you have never bowed soul and spirit to an idol, 
and < found it clay never realised in the dread hour that saw 
its demolition, that the fairest growth of heart and mind — the 
plants which you flattered yourself were climbing heavenward, 
had only twined themselves with strengthening tendrils about 
the altar of that one love ! I know the meaning of the expres- 
sion, < broken cisterns, which can hold no water/ I have felt 
for some time past as if my heart were a stagnant marsh, flooded 
by wasted affections To-day I have been happier, more hopeful. 
I will begin life anew, and strive for my art and for my kind.^* 

I have often told you that you have rare qualifications for 
usefulness,’’ rejoined Ida. << Your besetting fault is unsteadi- 
ness of purpose ; the best resolutions avail nothing if they are not 
adhered to.” 

I know it. I dare not say now, that I will keep my present 
frame of mind until to-morrow ; but I do feel as if a broad field 
were spread before me, and a bright, bright heaven over-arched 
it. I can think and speak of Ellen ; I comfort myself by ima- 
gining that our separation is for our mutual good — our charac- 
ters required discipline, and dimly in the future I see visions of 
reconciliation and re-union.” Poor boy I the idol was not gone 
yet ! He sat in an attitude of careless grace, his hand support- 
ing his cheek, and the light falling upon his upturned face. 

Yes,” he continued, thoughtfully. I am convinced that my 
life has been spared for some important end, and I will work it 
out, whenever Providence designates the ways and means of its 
accomplishment. I do not overlaud my ability; for youth, and 
health, and energy, are almost omnipotent, and I am young, and 
strong, and willing.” 

You will not be offended if I aid you in the work ?” asked 

Ida. 

No ; and I anticipate your warning. You would say that 
self-conquest lies at the base of all other victories. Ah ! you will 
yet be ashamed of your incredulity as to my regeneration. That 
is Charley’s voice, he has brought Lacy, too ! I am glad !” 

Ida was more than glad. She had seen him since their mid- 
night walk, but Josephine’s presence had debarred her from 
even a look of acknowledgment. 

Mrs. Dana came down stairs, and completed the fireside 

group. • 


ALONE. 195 

<< What have you two been prosing about V* asked Charley, 
presently. 

<< I have been talking — Miss Ida listening,’^ said Lynn. 
“ She has no faith in my determination to play < good boy/ and 
as she knows me better than I do myself, I am uneasy for the 
durability of my excellent resolve. Do say something encour- 
aging, Lacy.^^ 

<< What is this reformation ? of mind or manner inquired 
Morton. 

'^<Mind, manner, heart and will. I have been a wilful trou- 
blesome child all my life ; I mean, from this time forward, to be 
a man” 

<< And how are you setting about it?^^ 

Oh ! I am theorising now. I have no distinct object, except 
to do the best I can ; to mortify evil passions, to uproot selfish 
desires, to foster the germs of good in myself and others. 

Mr. Lacy smiled, a little sadly. << You have undertaken a 
Sisyphus task, if you heave the stone up the hill in your own 
strength.^' 

Lynn looked dismayed. Yet it is our duty to do all this. 
The Scriptures, for whose infallibility you contend, set a higher 
standard of faith and practice than I have done.^^ 

But they tell us in so many words, < Ye can of yourselves, 
do nothing.' Who can say, < I have made my heart clean — I 
am pure from my sin V ” 

You do not agree with the fanatics who denounce morality, 
I hope/' said Charley. I heard one hold forth last Sabbath. 
He told us <our righteousness was as filthy rags.' I had read my 
Bible, and knew that; but he heated Gehenna seven times 
hotter for ^ye miserable moralists' than for the vilest outcast 
that ever dishonored the image in which he was made. I make 
no pretensions to piety, but I endeavour to do my duty to my 
fellow-men ; to hate none, and help all. I go to church because 
[ think it right, if only for the example I set to others; I don't 
expect my good works to be a passport to heaven ; but I thought, 
as I listened to him, that his orthodoxy and zeal, without charity, 
would profit him nothing." 

You were probably nearer right than he ;" said Mr. Lacy. 

I do not decry morality. Beason teaches us that the benevo- 

17 


194 


ALONE. 


lent citizen, the honest tradesman, the kind parent and husband, 
find more favour in the eyes of a righteous judge than the rioter, 
the cheat, the debauchee and tyrant. Much injury is done to 
religion by the mistaken zeal of its advocates. This was not the 
spirit of its Founder. To me, the history of the young ruler, 
who came to Christ, is one of the most affecting in the New Tes- 
tament. He was not driven away by disheartening rebukes; 
but ‘ Jesus, looking on him, loved him/ How tenderly must he 
have uttered— ‘ But one thing thou lackest V 

^^But how unnatural is the finale!’^ said Lynn. ^'^And he 
went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions.' He let his 
lucre outweigh his soul !" 

Take care how you condemn !" said Charley. << There 
are < possessions’ besides silver and gold, which clog a man’s 
steps. Love of pleasure has ruined more souls than love of 
gain.” 

<< And procrastination more than both together;” added Mor- 
ton. 

Ida looked at Charley. “ Do you remember our conversation 
after the protracted meeting, last summer?” asked she. I felt, 
when you spoke of Death and Eternity, that I could never close 
my eyes again in peace; but the impression wore off; and we 
are here, to-night, it may be, no better prepared for our inevi- 
table change than we were then.” 

Yet we are content to hunt for the motives of this inconsis- 
tency of belief and action, instead of rectifying it !” said Mr. 
Lacy, seriously. 

“ You predestinarians may excuse us upon the ground that we 
are waiting the < set time ;’ ” remarked Charley. 

“ God’s time is < now ;’ ” answered his friend. “ < To-mor- 
row’ comes with a note of warning — ‘ Boast not thyself of to- 
morrow ;’ ‘ To-day is — to-morrow is cast into the oven.’ ” 

You have battered my scaffolding, and not provided me with 
another ;” cried Lynn. You say I am helpless, yet cry, < the 
night cometh !’ ” 

Mr. Lacy took a Bible from the table, and handing it to Ida, 
requested her to read aloud the passages he pointed out. 

< Then said they tinto him ; What shall we do that wo 
might work the works of God ? Jesus answered, ‘and said unto 


ALONE. 


195 


them : this is the work of Grod that ye believe on him whom he 
hath sent and < Knowing that a man is not justified by the 
works of the law, but by the faith of Jesus Christ, even we have 
believed in Jesus Christ, that we might be justified by the faith 
of Christ, and not by the works of the law/ ” 

Thank you,’^ said Lynn. << Then I am to do nothing 
Nothing as yet, but believe and trust. Having enlisted in 
the service, you will not be left idle. But I am overstaying my 
time ; I engaged to meet a friend at half-past nine, and it is 
nearly ten. I had rather stay here, but good night, never- 
theless.^' 

“ And I have not thanked him !" thought Ida, disappointed 
— but— 

<<Miss Ida !" called Charley, from the porch. << Come, see 
this cloud !" 

A pile of snow-clouds was heaving up towards the moon, 
which fringed their jagged outlines with silver, unearthly bright 
from the blackness below. 

You would say, < gloomily beautiful ” said Mr. Lacy. 

He was close beside her, and approachable as ever; and Char- 
ley held Mrs. Dana and Lynn in conversation. In one sentence, 
she expressed her sense of obligation, and her regret that he had 
had so much trouble in executing her commission. His face was 
in the shade, but she felt his look. 

« Nothing is a trouble to me, that promotes your happiness." 

She went back to the parlor, with a tumultuous joy at heart. 
The full significance of his words she did not understand till long 
afterwards. 

Mr. Lacy should study for the ministry;" said Mrs. Dana. 

<^He does more good as he is;" replied Charley, stoutly. <‘If 
all Christians performed their duty as well, you and I would live 
to see the Millennium. He can reach men, who would fly at 
the glimpse of a white cravat. There is some charm about the 
man ; his religion is a part of himself ; and he carries it every- 
where he goes. I have seen the wildest fellows I know, cluster 
around him, and introduce the subject, for the pleasure of hear- 
ing him talk. He knows when to begin, and when to leave off. 
He says plain things to me ; I might knock down another man 
who took the liberty ; I thank him, and am sincere in so doing." 


196 


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I love to listen to him ; but he makes me very uncomfort- 
able said Mrs. Dana. 

<^It is so with me;'^ responded Lynn. Our conferences 
always leave me out of humour with myself, and envious of 
him.’' 

<< I think the secret of his influence lies in his humility and 
charity;’^ remarked Ida; <On his not holding himself so far 
above us ^ deluded worldlings,’ as certain of his brethren. He 
believes there is good in all ; not that he is all-good.” 

‘‘ These all-good people are too apt to slam the door of Hea- 
ven, as soon as they are on the safe side, themselves;” answered 
Charley. << Lacy would be willing to see the whole human race 
saved.” 

“ Who would not ?” laughed Ida. 

<< i Who would not !’ why, I honestly thought, before I knew 
him, that many professors of religion, — ^those of his denomina- 
tion, especially — would be sorely chagrined at an event so oppo- 
site to their calculations.” 

<‘I wish I were as certainly < predestinated’ as he is;” said 
Lynn, with a smile and a sigh. 

“I cannot quite subscribe to your ^ election’ principles; but 
if I were altogether such an one as he seems to be, I should con- 
sider my chance pretty safe;” returned Charley. 

“ You are not going, Ida !” remonstrated Mrs. Dana. << Stay 
all night with me.” 

I cannot. We shall have a snow storm to-morrow, and I 
might be detained several days.” 

No great harm if you are !” said Charley.” 

<<Not if I have duties which call me home? I will come 
again shortly, but I must go now.” 

Charley, as host pro tempore, got his hat ; and Lynn followed 
them into the street, with, “ I hope I don’t intrude !” The tem- 
pest was near at hand ; the gust that bufieted them at the cor- 
ners made them stagger. Lynn forced Ida to take his arm also, 
and in this style they breasted the storm, gaily. Ida looked out 
after them, before she closed the door. They hurried along, 
arm in arm, their merry voices borne back to her by the wind, 
after the darkness swallowed up their forms. 

The snow fell steadily all the next day, and the next. 


ALONE. 


197 


Josephine was blue;” her name for ill-humor — “bad 
weather always made her blue Mr. Read had a twinge of the 
rheumatism, and was amiable accordingly. Ida wrote a long 
letter to Carry; read Charley’s last budget of books; and 
watched the snow-flakes; enjoying the perfect quiet, and free- 
dom from interruption. LTpon each evening, she sat by her 
window, until she could not distinguish the boundary between 
the leaden sky and the white earth ; and the snow, she had been 
brushing off* all day, banked up against the glass. “ Heigho ! 
we dreamers have some pleasures more sensible people know 
nothing about;” said she, as the tea-bell sounded the second 
night. “ It will seem so dark and dreary below after the society 
that has cheered my sanctum I” 

The ice was breaking up below, in a hail-storm, which had all 
the sharpness of a conjugal “ diflerence,” without the stinging 
politeness genteel people throw into their wrangles. Ida listened 
and sickened and sighed. A pealing ring checked the dispu- 
tants. Ida’s heart fluttered, and Josephine looked up anxiously 
at the footman’s entrance. 

“ Mr. Dana, to see Miss Ross.” 

“Of course then, I shall not go out;” said Josephine, 
haughtily. ' 

Ida ran into the drawing-room. “ Oh ! I am so glad to see 
you !” — but his look stopped her short. “ You have bad news ! 
Carry !” she articulated, sinking into a chair. 

“ No : Carry and Jenny are well; but I am come for you. 
Our poor friend Lynn, is very ill.” 

“ 111 !” said she, incredulously. 

His lips quivered. “ Very ill !” 

“ Lynn ! brother !” A mist fell over her sight — then cleared, 
as one long choking sob relieved her burdened breast. Charley 
raised her. 

“ There is no time to lose.” 

“ I am ready.” 

Mr. Read and J osephine came into the hall at the bustle. 

“ Miss Ross ! may I presume to ask whither you are going, 
on such a night ?” 

To see a sick friend, sir !” returned Charley, as dictatorially. 

“ Whom sir, and where ?” 


17 * 


198 


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<< My friend, and slie is under my protection said he, impa- 
tient at the detention. A carriage was waiting. Ida asked one 
question — When was he attacked 

<< Within three hours after we parted from you. He stayed 
with me at John^s that night; complained before retiring, of 
thirst and chilliness ; and awoke with a raging fever. The 
doctors pronounce the disease inflammation of the lungs, of the 
most virulent nature. He had a lucid interval this evening, and 
asked for you.'^ 

She did not say, << Is there hope She knew there was 
none. 

Charley exchanged a word with the servant who opened the 
door, and led the way directly to the sick-chamber. Mrs. Dana 
met her with a tearful embrace ; she saw no one else, but the 
figure upon the bed. But for the dark circles about the eyes 
and mouth, the unmistakeable signet of Death, he might have 
seemed in perfect health. He appeared to be asleep, until she 
stood at his pillow ; then opened his eyes upon her horror-stricken 
face, and made an efibrt to smile. 

« Ida 

“ Dear Lynn V* 

His breath was short I am almost gone. Give my fare- 
well. to Ellen, — I forgave and loved her to the last. Bury her 
miniature with me. I have done with earth.^^ 

He closed his eyes. They brought a cordial. His wistful 
glance ran around the room, and returned to her. 

What is it, dear Lynn V’ 

Oh ! the mournful intensity of that look ! and the clammy 
fingers clasped hers. << 1 did not think 1 should die so soon! Is 
Lacy here V’ « 

He came forward at her sign. 

I am dying — I have not time to search for myself — see if 
there is any promise for me !” 

“ < Him that cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out 
repeated Mr. Lacy, instantly. (( <He is able also, to save unto 
the uttermost all them, who come unto God by Him, — seeing 
He ever liveth to make intercession for them.’ ” 

The fading eyes were re-lit with eagerness. 

<< Is that there ? did He say so, or did you 


ALONE 199 

He said it, who declares, moreover, that He is not willing 
for ‘ any to perish but that all should turn and live/ ” 

His dying gaze was upward, and his lips moved in prayer. 

<< To the uttermost — the uttermost V’ he whispered. “ ‘Lord ! 
remember — me, — when Thou comest — into — Thy — * ” 

He sank into a stupor ; and the physician administered another 
stimulant. He had besought them not to permit him to sleep 
while reason lasted. One and another had come in, on hearing 
of his danger, and the room was nearly filled ; but there was not a 
word or loud breath, to distract the meditations of the parting soul. 

Charley and Mrs. Dana were nearest him on one side, Ida and 
Mr. Lacy, on the other. He looked at them fondly. 

“ Friends ! dear friends ! ‘ There is a friend — ’ ” to Lacy. 

He finished the sentence — “ That sticketh closer than a 
brother.^^ 

“ Yes : — I remember — who is able to save — to — the — utter- 
most — ” his voice died away. When next his eyes moved, it 
was slowly and painfully ; but their restless light was not extinct. 
The stiffening mouth contracted. 

“ He says ‘ Pray / ” said Ida to Morton. 

Every head was bowed; and the opening sentence of the 
prayer brought a deeper quiet to every heart. 

“ ‘ Lord ! Thou hast been our dwelling-place in all genera- 
tions • 

The language was simple, scriptural and fervent, — the plead- 
ing of a son, in behalf of a brother, with an indulgent Parent. 
As he repeated the text, Lynn had dwelt upon, Ida felt the feeble 
pressure of his hand ; — he was alive and conscious then. The 
rest arose at the “ Amen.^^ She had not knelt; but she did not 
raise her head from the pillow; — her soul had caught the fare- 
well of his, as it flew away upon its long journey ! There was a 
movement through the room — a breathless pause — a solemn 
voice said “ He is gone and tears and sobbings broke forth. 

His hand still held hers ; and the other was folded over 
them in supplication ; — the eyes still looked heavenward — but 
they were fixed. 

Dead ! dead ! in his glorious beauty — in the flush of youth i 
deaf to the recall of mourning hearts — and the awakening 
echoes of the fame his genius had won ! If he could die, who 
was sure of an hour of life. 


200 


ALONE. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

Ellen Morris accepted an invitation to Petersburg, ere the 
angry pique, aroused by Lynn’s reproaches, passed off. The 
promise was hardly given, when she would have revoked it, had 
not pride held her to her word. Her friends were solicitous, 
that the far-famed hospitality of their city should not seem to 
the Richmond beauty, to have been vaunted too highly ; and she 
appreciated their efforts ; but the fortnight she had named as the 
period of her stay, crept slowly by. She hoped confidently to 
see her lover again at her feet, when the heat of passion was over ; 
yet she was wretched in the recollection of her trifling, and the 
misery it had inflicted upon his high-toned spirit. Twice she 
prepared to write to him, and end a suspense torturing to both, 
— and twice dashed down the pen in shame and pride. The 
wished-for hour of departure arrived. The morning was bleak; 
the snow had ceased falling, but the clouds were low and threat- 
ening. Her entertainers begged her to wait but a day longer. 

If it were a matter of life and death, you could not be more 
obstinate,” said her hostess, fretted at her unreasonableness. 

<^And how do you know that it is not?” answered she, 
jestingly. 

It is no joking matter. Miss Ellen,” said a young man, 
gravely. « They have not cleared the snow from the track as it 
ought to be done. You would feel badly to have your neck 
broken.” 

“That is a trifle compared with a broken heart;” and she 
laughed lightly. 

The train started, and the shivering passengers resigned them- 
selves to a comfortless ride. Ellen’s escort, an elderly gentleman, 
lost no time in settling his chin and ears down in the collar of 
his great coat, and the rest of his body in a corner, to sleep. 
She was wide-awake ; and her spirits, raised by the near prospect 
of the meeting, her hopes had fed upon, for weary days and 
nights, found amusement in the uncouth figures, seen by the 
struggling light. She did not suffer from the cold or damp; her 


ALONE. 


201 


pulses bounded warmly; and when tired of being a solitary 
looker-on, she closed her eyes, and beguiled the time by fancies 
of home and him; whether he too were repentant; if he did not 
show it, rather than lose him, she could humble herself to lure 
him back; — she could not be happy without the assurance of 
his love. She would tell him hov/ miserable their parting had 
made her; and imagination revelled in the anticipation of the 
refreshing flood, her thirsting heart would receive^ in return. 
There were pictures of days, which should fleet by like a dream ; 
— when doubts and fears should be lost in perfect beatitude; 
the dingy, smoky cars were metamorphosed into their cottage 
home, with its music and flowers and birds, and its atmosphere 
of love; — and the votaries of his divine art thronged to offer 
incense to him — her peerless one ! 

The halting of the laboring engine startled her. The drowsy 
travellers gathered themselves up; and elbowing and grumbling, 
rushed out. She lifted the window. They were at the Depot. 
Half-frozen oflicials stamped their toes and blew their fingers ; 
hackmen swore at their horses and the porters; — now and then, 
a pair of wa,tery eyes peered into the cars, in quest of some 
expected one ; but the form she looked for was not there. 

Pshaw ! how could he know when she was coming ? how silly 
not to recollect this \” 

<< There is no one here to meet you. Miss Ellen, said her 
companion, re-entering. 

I hardly expected it, sir; if you will be so kind as to get a 
carriage for me, I will not trouble you further.” 

Her smile thawed the old man’s churlishness. He volun- 
teered, his foot upon the step to see her all the way home;” 
but she would not consent. 

“ I am not afraid ; this kind ^ uncle’ will carry me safely.” 

The driver scraped and grinned, although his woolly whiskers 
were hoary with rime. Pity aU women can’t be agreeable !” 
said the escort, trudging through the drifts, to his hack. That 
a gentleman of his temperament was ever otherwise, even on a 
raw morning, did not occur to him. 

An omnibus blocked up the street ; — Ellen’s carriage was 
behind it, and the driver’s abjurgative eloquence retarded, 
instead of quickening the movements of its proprietor, who was 
stowing away baggage upon the roof. 


202 


ALONE. 


Hallo !’^ cried a young man, to another, who was knocking 
the snow from his boots against the curb-stone. << When did 
you get in?^^ 

<<Just now. Horrid weather for March! — isn’t it? Any 
news going ?” 

Not a bit — all frozen up — ah ! yes I Lynn Holmes is dead.” 

<< What I not the artist ! when did it happen ? I saw him on 
the street a week ago — another duel ?” 

No — lung fever. He died night before last, after forty- 
eight hours’ illness.” 

Shocking !” 

Ellen I you are white as a sheet !” was Mrs. Morris’ greeting. 

My dear child — are you sick ?” 

<< No ma’am — only cold — oh! so cold !” 

<< Come to the fire.” 

<< I think I will lie down awhile — T am chilled to the heart !’' 

The servant, who carried her breakfast, reported her asleep, 
and the careful mother would not let them waken her. Later 
in the day, she took a cup of hot coffee up to her. She was 
motionless ; her head covered. • 

<< My daughter !” said Mrs. Morris, softly, drawing down the 
coverlet. 

She looked at her, but did not speak. 

How do you feel now?” 

I don’t know, ma’am.” 

You are not quite awake yet, I believe,” said her mother, 
smiling. « Here, drink this — it will do you good.” ‘ 

She took it. 

By the way, my dear,” continued Mrs Morris, busying her- 
self with the folds of a curtain, which did not hang to suit her. 
« I have melancholy news for you. Our friend, Mr. Holmes, 
died suddenly, night before last. I never was more astonished 
and grieved in my life. He was such a handsome, promising 
young man, and so attached to us ! I said directly how sorry 
you would be to hear it. You were so much together — where 
are the pins ? oh ! here they are ! His disease was a rapid inflam- 
mation of the lungs. The funeral will take place at the church 
this afternoon some of us must go, if the weather is bad. Ho 
you think you will be well enough?” 


ALONE. 


203 


<< Yes ma’am/^ 

<< Well — I hope so; and now I will go down and keep the 
children still, so that fou can sleep.” 

The thunder of a thousand cannon would not have disturbed 
her. She heard and saw all that passed ; but in place of heart 
and sense, was a dead vacuity, empty and soundless, although it 
had eugulphed thought and feeling. She went to the funeral. 
Prudent, appearance-loving Mrs. Morris, dexterously flung a veil 
before the stony eyes, whose tearlessness people might observe, 
and wonder aloud, as she did mentally, at Ellen’s want of 
feeling but her daughter quietly raised it. The church was 
crowded. The untimely end of one so gifted and popular, thrilled 
the community, as the breast of one man. All was as still as the 
grave ; the roar of the busy city-life deadened by the heavy atmos- 
phere and cushioned earth. The wail of a clarion stirred the 
air; — nearer and nearer it sounded ; and the plaintive breathing 
of other instruments ; and at long intervals, a single roll of the 
drum ; — nearer and nearer— they ceased, and the procession moved 
up the aisle. First walked Charles Dana and his sister-in-law, 
clad in deep mourning as for a brother ; then Morton Lacy, pale 
and sorrowful, and on his arm another black-robed figure, (such 
privilege had Friendship above Love !) then a small band of 
fellow-artists; and the coffin! borne and followed by the Masonic 
fraternity, of which he was a member. It was set down in front 
of the pulpit; the Book,” with its drapery of black crape, laid 
reverently upon it; and the service proceeded. There were 
prayers and hymns and a sermon ; she heard none ; — the coffin 
lay in her sight — his coffin ! It was not t Where then was the 
vigorous life which moved the still form within it ? where the 
soul of splendid imaginings and lofty aspirations? where the 
heart, with its wealthy feeling ? they could not die ! He lived 
still — and living, loved her. That narrow coffin was a horrible 
mockery. And so, when the cover was removed, and those, who 
from curiosity or afiection, desired to look for the last time upon 
his face, filed slowly by it, she arose too. He was there 1 royally 
beautiful, even in his prison-house ; the rich black locks swept 
back from the marble temples; and a smile resting upon the 
lips. Oh ! what power bears woman up in a moment like this ! 
Her life— her world was shut in with the replacing of that lid ; 




204 


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but she saw each screw returned to its place, without a tear or 
a shudder; — herself, proposed to her mother, that they should 
follow the corpse to its home ; and watched them heap the snow 
and clods upon it. And through that and many succeeding 
nights, she stood in the attic, in cold and darkness, straining 
her eyes towards where the gleaming tomb-stones were visible 
in the day, and fancying she could tell which shadowed an 
unsodded mound. 

Charley was his friend’s executor. In the fulfilment of his 
trust, he found a casket marked — To be given, at my death, to 
K — M.” He thought of sealing it up, and sending it to her 
with a note from himself; but decided upon further deliberation, 
to entrust it to Ida. It was a painful duty. She was not able 
yet to speak of Lynn without distressing emotion. His decease 
was so sudden, so awful, — snatched, as he was, from her very 
side, with the barest intimation of his danger, after months of 
intimate intercourse. She mourned for him as sisters and friends 
seldom weep. Charley did not command. She was the more 
proper person,” he said ; << but he would not grieve her by 
enforcing the request.” 

I cannot meet her!” said she. He was so dear to us — 
how can I endure the sight of her indifference? They say she 
was calm and careless while they were burying him.” 

“Calm — she certainly was; but the glance I had at her face 
assured me not careless. I am much mistaken if she was not 
the greatest sufferer by that grave. I was angry with her, pre- 
viously ; I believe now that she merits our compassion.” 

Yet it was an unwilling heart that Ida carried to the inter- 
view. Ellen sent for her to come to her room. I am busy, 
you see,” said she, with the ghost of a smile. Ida held the pre- 
cious legacy more tightly, as she noticed her occupation. A ball- 
dress was spread upon the bed, and she was fastening roses upon 
the skirt. Her cheek was white, as Ida glanced at her own sad- 
colored dress. 

“ You are going to the party to-night, then?” said the latter. 

“ Yes — will Josephine attend ?” 

“ I have not heard her say — have not inquired — have not 
thought of it.” 

Despairing of broaching the subject in any other way, she 


ALONE. 205 

took the casket from under her shawl, and laid it upon the 
dress. 

The living forget sooner than the dead, Ellen was all she 

said. 

The unhappy girl recoiled at the familiar characters upon the 
lid, and stretched out her arms with an imploring cry. Ida 
reached her as she fell. She had fainted. Charley’s words were 
verified, and Ida blamed herself severely for her cruel abruptness. 
Her tears ran fast, as she strove to restore consciousness “ Oh ! 
Ida — Lynn!” groaned Ellen, reviving. Reserve, pride, self- 
control were borne down; — they wept in each other’s arms. 
With the casket pressed to her bosom, Ellen heard his last mes- 
sage, and the hopeful words he had spoken of the future, he was 
not to know upon earth. 

“I did love him! Heaven is my witness — I did love him!” 
she cried, anguishedly. « He did not condemn me; but I can 
never forgive myself! If I could have seen him once more to 
tell him so ! Dead ! oh ! that I were in the grave beside him !’^ 

This was grief without a glimmer of hope. Ida had no word 
of comfort. 

Ellen’s eye fell upon the gossamer robe. — she threw it upon the 
floor, and trampled it. I hate it ! and myself, and everything 
else ! I am a hypocrite ! a lying hypocrite ! with my hollow 
smiles and broken heart. Leave me ! go! or I shall hate youV* 

Ida left her thus — writhing under the scorpion-lash of remorse, 
and rejecting consolation. She met Josephine, a square or two 
from home, and upon the door-step, Mr. Lacy. Admitting him, 
she ran up stairs to efface the marks of her recent agitation. 
Her pallor and swollen eyes remained, however, and did not 
escape him. He did not begin, as many would have done, in 
his place, to speak of topics entirely foreign to what was in their 
thoughts ; he wished to apply a curative, not an anodyne. 

« Charley tells me you are going to the country, before long; 
he said. I do not regret it, as I should if I were stay here 
myself. After the first of April, I shall study at home, until 
autumn. You are to pay your friend Carry a visit, are you not V* 

<^Yes.” 

<< She is the ^ sister’ I have heard so much of?” 

The same — I wish you knew her.” 

18 


206 


ALONE. 


think I do. Her cheerful society is what you need. 
While it is neither possible, nor desirable to forget that we have 
been bereaved, we should beware how we indulge in a luxury of 
woe. Our duty to those we have lost, does not oblige us to 
neglect the friends who are spared to us.^^ 

<< Very few remain to me,^^ said Ida, tremulously. 

You are wrong. You may never find one who will fill his 
place ; but the rest love you the more, that you are afflicted. 
Charley is a true brother.^^ 

■ « He is — and of late he is more unreserved, more afiectionate 
than he used to be j his sympathy is very sweet. I must speak 
of yourself, also, Mr. Lacy, although I have no language to 
thank you for your kindness. I fear I have been wearisome at 
times ; but you seem to understand why this was no common 
'bereavement to me.^^ 

« So far from being wearied, I am grateful for your confidence. 
No act of mine shall cause you to repent it.^^ 

Charley has given me some lines which he thinks were 
written recently,^^ said Ida. “They were among some loose 
sheets in a portfolio of drawings. I wept over them, but they 
comforted me. I have been wishing that you had them. This 
is a rough copy, you observe ; and probably not read after being 
penned.'^ 

Mr. Lacy^s eyes filled, as he read at the top of the page, 
“Hi P. M., after a visit from M. 

“ ALL IN CHRIST. 

** Jesus, Saviour! from Thy dwelling, 

High all stars and thrones above, 

, Hear my faltering accents, telling 

Of weak faith and smouldering love. 

Poor love for Thee, the only worthy — 

Dull faith in Thee, the only wise — 

While to all things base and earthy. 

How madly cling my wistful eyes ! 

• I am blind ! in rough paths groping. 

With outstretched hands and sightless eyes; 

Through gloom so dense, I scarce am hoping 
That dawn will ever gild the skies. 

Black, grisly spectres hover o’er mo, 

Filling my quaking soul with fright ; 

Thou — of all worlds the sun and glory, 

Radiant Redeemer I be my light. 


ALONE. 


207 


I am lonely ! often keeping 
Sad vigils o’er affections dead ; 

• Some in the grave’s strait chamber sleeping— 

Some like bursting bubbles fled ! 

Yet for full love my deep soul longeth — 

Gently each seeking tendril bend 
To Thee — to whom that soul belongeth j — 

Loving Redeemer ! be my friend. 

, I am guilty ! oh how sinning ! 

• Against my kind — against my God j — 

• Hell and corruption ever. winning 

My soul into the downward road. 

Insanely gloating on pollution — 

QuaflBng thick lees for pleasures pure — 

Rend thou away each fell delusion, 

Holy Redeemer! be my cure !” 

«Do you recollect the visit to which he refers?^' inquired 
Ida. 

“ I was with him until late, one night, a week before his 
death,” was the reply ; and our conversation may have inspired 
the thoughts he has expressed here ; but I cannot say with cer- 
tainty, that it did. If this temper of spirit and heart was habit- 
ual to him, what may we not hope 

If !” exclaimed Ida, sadly. Doubt is agonizing. It is 
not consistent with God^s mercy that he should be consigned to 
never ending misery; he whose faults made us love him better; 
the soul of honor and integrity ! ‘ I will not believe that so much 
that was pure and good is quenched in eternal darkness. This 
thought is with me night and day. What authority have 
men, his inferiors by nature — hardly his equals in the practice 
of virtue, to doom him, and hope a happier fate for the them- 
selves 

“ Who has done this?” asked Mr. Lacy, sternly. 

<< More than one, in my hearing; and Charley was exasperated 
to insult a man, a church member, who exhorted him not ‘ to 
imitate his example, and thereby meet the same awful punish- 
ment.' Charley regrets now, that he spoke rudely to one his 
senior, and whom he had hitherto respected, but says he, ^a 
Christian should not forget that he is a man !’ ” 

<< Nor does he,” replied Morton. From some who cross the 
river of Death we hear the <AlTs Well,' when their feet touch 
the solid ground ; then we may rejoice in the confident assurance 
that we shall meet them again. As many pass over in timid, as 


208 


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in despairing silence j — timidity, excbarged for rapture, on the 
bright shore beyond. Grod only knows the heart — only knows 
when the doomed oversteps the bounds He has appointed for his 
mercy j and as we hope for it ourselves, we should tremble at the 
thought of limiting it by our finite judgments. In this immea- 
surable love and pity is our trust, Ida; doubts and fearings 
cannot solve the mystery ; we know this, however — ‘ He doth, 
not afflict willingly,’ and .^remembereth our feeble frame.’ Who 
pardons a child’s faults more than a parent? and ‘Our Father’ 
is also his. Yet,” continued he, “ Charley erred in repulsing 
the warning, kindly, if injudiciously extended. The suffering we 
experience in our uncertainty as to his condition, should teach 
us to make our salvation sure, so that when our hour shall come 
— ^if a call at midnight, we may not leave those who love us, 
comfortless.” 

“ His death has caused a heart-rending void,” said Ida. “ I 
start whenever the door opens at the hours he was accustomed 
to visit us. At Mr. Dana’s, I am listening all the time for his 
step or voice. Oh ! why do nonentities, cumberers of the earth, 
spin out a tiresome life, and the loved and useful perish ?” 

“ Perhaps they are taken away from the evil to come. You 
would not rebel if you believed this ? At best, what are the 
short years of toil and change we pass below, compared with the 
never-ending life of our heavenly home ?” 

“You forget that I have no portion in that home, Mr. Lacy.” 

“No portion! You do not mean to refuse an inheritance so 
graciously ofiFered ! It may be long before we have another oppor- 
tunity to speak of these thing ; will you make me a promise ?” 

“ If I can perform it,” answered she. 

“ It is that you will every day, ask yourself, ‘ What happiness 
does my soul desire that Christ cannot, and will not bestow ?’ 
Will you do this ?” 

She promised. 

“It seems impossible,” he pursued, “ that a sorer trial than 
. that which you are now undergoing, can befall you ; yet there 
may be such in reserve, and then, I would have you recollect, 
that as He is the only happiness. He is also the only comfort. 
Willingly — gladly as I would suffer in your stead, I would not 
save you a pang, if I thought it was His means to bring you to 
Himself.” 


ALONE. 


200 


He spoke with emotion, as if possessed with the conviction 
that the event he adverted to would assuredly take place; and 
that this was his sole chance of preparing her for it. He arose 
— she gave him her hand — it was taken as silently, and held for 
a long minute. 

<< This is not our parting/’ said he ; << if we both live, I shall 
see you again soon, but to provide against contingencies, I will 
ask you now to write to me ; I mean, of course, in answer to my 
letters, as you would to Charley — to a brother, — will you ?” 

<< Yes, if your letters are as frank as your speech, and I am 
granted a like indulgence.” 

True to his promise, he called upon the eve of her departure, 
but the presence of the family and other visitors prevented 
private conversation ; and Charley’s manoeuvres, skilful and un- 
suspected as they were, failed to effect a diversion of Josephine’s 
watchfulness. Yet as they said farewell ” Ida felt a card 
slipped into her hand. Upon it was pencilled, << Kemember 
your promise. Mizpah.” 


CHAPTER XVIIL 

Life at Poplar-grove was much as it had been, the previous 
summer; still and bright. The mornings were spent in Carry’s 
pleasant sewing-room, from which male visitors were rigorously 
excluded ; in the afternoon, were the siesta, and ride or walk y 
at night, music and social chat. Carry feared that this monotony, 
while it suited her wishes and ^employments, might be less 
agreeable to her friend; that she would miss the gay whirl, the 
intoxicating incense of her city career. But Ida was contented, 
even happy. Beloved and carressed by the whole household, in 
the house of kindred tastes and feeling ; and above all, with the 
firm hope that her life-long search was at last ended ; her wild 
cravings laid to rest beneath the waves, which welling from the 
unsealed fountain, had risen higher and higher, until her soul 
was overflowing with love and rapture; — she revelled in the 
quiet hours of friendly communion, and the sweeter seasons of 
witching revere. Carry knew nothing of the spring of her 

18 * 


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happiness. She saw that her mind had acquired a more healthy 
tone ; — that her affections had expanded, and attributed it to 
the influence of friendship \ — to a strength of mind, which had 
determined the world should be what it chose to have it ; — to 
anything but the true cause, — an idolatry that left no room for 
suspicion or discontent. Once Carry alluded to the twilight 
promenade, when Ida had told her of her forebodings of the 
wane of their love, after the nuptials, which were now fast 
approaching; and was answered by a warm embrace and smile, 
which said those fears were quelled, and might have betrayed to 
more prying eyes, the enchantment that had exercised them. 
Her evening improvisations entranced, not only the parlor-circle, 
but drew to the windows a larger audience from without, spell- 
bound by her heart-melodies. All her delight was not in memory. 
Letters came and went; — from Charley and Mrs. Dana; and 
gossiping notes from Anna Talbot and others of the girls.” 
These, Carry enjoyed with her, and asked no questions about 
those which she did not see. Morton^s were what he engaged 
they shq^ild be ; sincere and friendl^q without a hint that could 
alarm her delicacy. They were tinctured with a sadness, she 
did not comprehend, until she noticed his many references to 
his sister’s sufferings, and his anxiety on her account. It was 
her time to console ; and her most valued treasure was the 
letter, in which he thanked and blessed her. 

Carry was to be married the last of July. The middle of 
June brought Mrs. Dana and the children, under Charley’s 
protection. For the week of his stay, he was the life of the 
house. One cloud was upon the spirits of all; — Lynn was 
missed and mourned, and by none, with more sorrowful tender- 
ness, than by his vivacious friend ; but he was unselflsh even 
in this. Ida could win him to speak of their loss; to thti others, 
he never mentioned it of his own accord. She was correct in 
saying that he had grown more communicative and affectionate. 
He seemed to have transferred to her the watchful love that had 
been Lynn’s safeguard and solace. 

Nothing changes you, Mars’ Charley?” said Uncle Ike, the 
plantation patriarch, halting at the piazza steps one afternoon, 
when he had crawled out into the sunshine. 

<‘I should like to say the same for you. Uncle Ike; time and 
sickness have not treated you as well as you derserve.” 


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211 


Better’ll I desarve, Mars’ Charles ! — ^heap better’ll I desarve ! 
Time for me to be packed and shoed for my journey. I’se lived 
in these low-grounds of sorrow, nigh ’pon ninety years, and 
many’ the young folks I’ve seen step down into the grave before 
me. When I heard that poor, handsome Mars’ Lynn had gone 
too, ’pears-like I was ready to grumble ’cause ’twant me — but 
’twas the Almighty’s will. Mars’ Charles, — ’twas his will. It 
’joices me to see you so well and lively — jest like you used to be. 
You don’t take trouble, I reckon, Marster.” 

“ No; it’s against my principles; — beside, we’ll have a plenty 
given to us.” 

“Fact, Marster! You aint knowed much yet; but < the evil 
days will come, when you shall say, I have no pleasure in 
them I’ ” 

Charley kept his seat upon the step for some time after the 
old man had gone : — once he sighed heavily. Ida was in the 
parlor, and longed to go out to him, for she guessed the tenor 
of his thoughts, but doubted the propriety of intruding upon 
them. He got up, presently, and began to walk the porch, 
whistling an opera air. Spying her through the window, he 
came in. “ You are ruining your eyes and health with this 
eternal stitching;” said he. “ As I live, you are boring holes 
in that piece of cloth, for the pleasure of sewing them up again ! 
No wonder women’s work is never ended I What are you 
making ?” 

“ A handkerchief.” She displayed the corner, in which sh<^ 
was embroidering, “ Carry Carleton.” 

“ Where are the others ?” he inquired. 

“ Mrs. Dana is in the nursery ; Carry asleep ; Dr. Carleton 
and Arthur abroad.” 

“Come, walk with me !” requested he. Any handkerchief, — 
a wedding mouchoir — can wait an hour.” 

Their course was along the brink of a deep ravine ; over 
shadowed by large old trees ; and bridged by fallen trunks. 
The sides were grass-grown, and at the bottom rolled the rivulet, 
which had fretted out the gorge ; blending its complainings with 
the low rush of the wind through the forest. 

“ So one feeling often wears away the soul I” remarked 
Charley, reflectively. “ Man is but clay after all I” 


212 


ALONE. 


« You ! the champion of your species — turning against them 
exclaimed Ida. 

No. I am still an unbeliever in the total corruption of our 
nature ; a doctrine so opposed to reason and experience, that I 
will never assent to it, if it is preached at me until doomsday. 
But this is a miserably unsatisfactory life 

<< Yet the world says you enjoy it.^^ 

And do you, an adept in concealment, credit a man^s outward 
show V* 

At least, I do not practise this accomplishment upon my 
friends ; replied Ida, piqued. 

Did I say that you did ? I am not sure that I could not 
prove this point, too ; — but we will let it pass for the present. 
I believe you to be what you appear to me. Carry would never 
forgive one who impugned your sincerity ; — and what would Mr. 
Germaine say 

This was a gentleman of the neighbourhood, whose marked 
attentions to Ida subjected her to the raillery of the Poplar- 
grove household. 

<< Nonsense V* said she, laughing. « He has never been 
beyond the outermost court of my heart.^’ 

<< I own his does not appear likely to be the hand to unlock 
the penetralia. This is the spot I wanted to show you. Is it 
not a fairy nook T* 

It was a mossy bank at the foot of a venerable sycamore, fronj 
whose branches the trailing vines touched their heads. A spring 
of the clearest crystal bubbled among its roots. 

<< Oh ! for a fairy goblet \” said Ida. 

<‘It is easily made, if these leaves are large enough,^^ answered 
Charley. He gathered some, but they were too irregularly- 
shaped to suit his purpose. It is a simple process,’^ said he, 
as he failed, after several trials, to convey a thimbleful of water 
to his amused companion ; « but as the man said who tried to 
fly and couldn’t — ^ there is every thing in knowing how to do it.’ 
I never like to be outdone, even in trifles. I saw some leaves as 
we came along that I know will do — excuse me a moment, and 
I will get them.” 

He was gone before she could object; and she strolled idly 
around the giant trunk of the sycamore, admiring the al fresco 


ALONE. 


213 


boudoir, of which it was the centre ornament. She set her foot 
upon something harder than the soft carpet — it was a small 
morocco case, which she picked up, with an ejaculation of sur- 
prise, and without a thought of who had dropped it, opened. 
She had nearly let it fall, as Carry’s lovely face smiled at her 
from within. Arthur has been here,” was her comment, but 
a glossy curl untwined itself from an envelope labelled in Charley’s 
hand — The seat under the honeysuckle. May Is^, 18 — a 
date four years back. There was no impropriety in his having 
Carry’s likenesss; — they had long been in feeling what they 
were shortly to become in name — brother and sister ; but her 
heart beat so with indefinable terror that she could not stand ; — 
it was as though, instead of the senseless case, another heart, its 
every throbbing revealed, lay in her hand. 

You are tired waiting, I suppose, but I had a longer search 
than — ” 

The glow of a stormy sunset rushed to his face as he saw the 
miniature she did not attempt to conceal. She had never con- 
ceived of the dormant passion which now awoke in his eye and 
form ; but she did not quail. 

“ I found this over there, and opened it thoughtlessly, not 
suspecting what it was or to whom it belonged. I am vhry 
sorry.” 

The storm passed while she was speaking. The man’s wonder- 
ful self-command was master. He dipped up the water with a 
careful hand ; the leafy cup did not quiver. 

<< Do you like it? is it cool ?” 

<< Yes — thank you.” 

He drank draught after draught himself, threw away the leaves, 
and resumed his seat upon the bank. 

<< There is no help for it, Ida ! you must hear what I did not 
intend you ever should ; not that I disdain your sympathy, but 
it is a rule with me not to disturb my friends with troubles, which 
they cannot alleviate. T do not know what suspicions have been 
forced upon you; if they are of the honor and affection I owe my 
brother, or of her fidelity to him, they are groundless. That 
picture was painted for me before I had any intimation that his 
was the prize I foolishly hoped to secure. I relinquished her ; 
Out this is the amulet which has saved me in many temptations. 


214 


ALONE. 


Althougli hope was no more, memory remained ; and. vice could 
not mate with the visions of purity that memory recalled. There 
has not been a time since I first saw her, a laughing babe, just 
liberated from her nurse’s arms, when I have not loved her more 
than any other earthly being. As boy and man I have thought, 
studied, labored for her alone. When I quitted home to seek 
my fortune, she was still a child, who clung weepingly to me, 
and kissed me as fondly as she did her father. It was the last 
time ! At my next visit she was away at school; — at the second 
I obtained that curl. She was then fifteen; innocent and loving, 
full of jesting surprise at ‘ Charley’s mannish ways,’ and hurt 
that I would not call her < sister.’ She did not ask this the 
ensuing summer. Lynn was with me ; and in the confidence of 
a hope that saw no cloud ahead, I imparted to him my dreams 
and desires, and engaged him to take her portrait secretly. I 
went back to New York, and wrote to her father, asking his 
sanction of the proposal I could not delay. The letter was upon 
my desk, ready for the post, when one arrived from Arthur. He 
was not to blame for his silence ; I had been as reserved to him ; 
but he entreated my forgiveness for hiding this, his only secret, 
from me. She knew it now ; — her father’s only objection was 
their youth — a < fault,’ he remarked, jocosely, < which will mend 
with time.’ In place of the letter to my guardian, I forwarded 
one to my brother, congratulating him upon his happy engage- 
ment to the woman I idolized. He is worthy of her, if a mortal 
can be. I can see that it is best. He has talents and energy, 
and loves her a'S she should be loved — I am rough and eccentric, 
caring and striving for nothing, now that my guiding star has set.” 

« Charley ! Charley ! you shall not so defame yourself!” cried 
Ida bursting, into tears. You^the kindest — most generous 
of men ! you are worthy of her I Oh ! I wish it could be !” 

« Hush ! hush ! I would not have it otherwise. I came home 
last summer, and saw them together without a pang of selfish 
regret ; and gloried in my subjugation of a passion their betrothal 
made sinful, until our ride to ‘ the Castle.’ My arm saved her 
from mutilation or death, and instead of thanksgiving, sprang 
up a horrible envy, that I had rescued her for him. It was 
momentary, but the repentance was bitter. I abhor myself 
when I think of it. I have never fancied since that I did not 


ALONE. 


215 


lore her. I know it as well now that another month will 
make her his bride, as I did when hope was highest. Poor Lj/nn ! 
it grieved him to his dying day !” 

Silence and tears was a fitfting reply to this narration. It 
came to Ida, like sudden death to a festival ; producing not only 
sorrow and dismay, but a trembling insecurity — an awful whis- 
per — Who next?'^ Did human love, then, always terminate 
in misery ? Was there no remedy ? She wanted Charley to speak 
again, and say that he had some source of comfort; or at least, 
strength for the last, greatest trial. His words put this hope to 
flight. 

I have borne as much as I can ; — if it be cowardly to avert 
further suflFering, I am not brave. I have business in the West 
next month, which could, but shall not be postponed. John will 
not know of it in time to provide a substitute. Arthur will be 
disappointed; I would spare him this trifling pain, if I were cer- 
tain that I should not give him more by remaining. I shall not 
wear this after the marriage— I may become a castaway without 
it, for aught I know. When Lynn died, I said, ^My secret is 
buried with him.' I have committed what the Machiavelis of 
the day would call an unwise act,^^ added he, smiling ; < consigned 
it to the keeping of a woman, — but I have no fears for its safety 
with you. Do not let it prey upon your spirits. I would not 
caution a less sympathetic nature. Be happy, Ida, — it is your 
manifest destiny; and I am still disinterested enough to < rejoice 
with those who do rejoice.^ The sun is setting — you shall not 
go to the house with that woe-begone face. Smile I or I don’t 
stir.’' 

He laughed at her attempt. Bather hysterical, — with that 
sob treading upon its heels ; but it will do. Come, sister !” 

Ida could have cried more heartily at an expression and^ 
tone, that reminded her of Lynn ; but he was resolute in not 
allowing it. 

Carry was upon the piazza. << My dear friends !" cried she, 
running to meet them. Where have you been ! here’s a house 
full of company, and I have sent scouts in every direction. Did 
not you hear or see them 

< I heard the owls- scream, and the crickets cry ;’ " said 
Charley. «Who is here, that we can prefer to each other’s 
society V* 


216 


ALONE. 


Your forest ramble has taught you gallantry. You^ll find 
him but a dull scholar, Ida — why, there are Messrs. Faulkner, 
Euston and G-ermaine, impatiently waiting the belle’s appear- 
ance.” 

Irresistible — more irresistible — most irresistible ! Are you 
going off to beautify. Miss Ida? Don’t hurry — I will tell them 
we got lost or drowned in the woods.” 

When the girls went down, it was candle-light; and the 
<< Irresistibles” were laughing themselves black in the face, over 
the piano, and the funniest of fellows,” who was entertaining 
them by an original parody upon Oh no ! I never mention 


her !” 


CHAPTEK XIX. 

Charley departed, and for several days, Ida disregarded his 
injunction of cheerfulness. She liked the warm-hearted, reliable 
Arthur ; but she was unjust in her vexation at his happiness, 
when she pictured the lonely brother, who had sacrificed his, to 
preserve it unabated. Her conscience reproached her for a dis- 
play of this impatience, while they were watching the receding 
form of their visitor. Arthur linked her arm in his, saying 
playfully, Come, cousin Ida, tell us what made you and my 
rattling brother so sober this morning. You parted as if you 
did not expect to meet again in this world. Is there any hope 
of my claiming nearer kinship ?” 

With a quick, fretful gesture she broke from him ; and although 
she recovered herself immediately, and answered pleasantly, he 
was amazed and wounded, and never repeated the familiarity. 
A letter from Mr. Lacy came opportunely to brighten the cur- 
rent of thought. She wished Charley could read it; but as this 
was not to be, she embodied its sentiments in her reply to a 
communication she had received from him. She was in the 
habit of moralising speculatively ; and he had no clue to betray 
from what quarter this practical strain had emanated. 

John arrived a week before the marriage, with intelligence 
that set the house in a turmoil; Charley had started to Missouri 


ALONE. 


217 


that morning. He ^^was the bearer of bis excuses and the 
bridal gift.^' Carry wept; and Arthur was indignant; Dr. 
Carleton proposed a postponement, which was unanimously voted 
for by the servants. << T wouldn’t be no wedding wuth talking 
about, ^thout Mars’ Charles was thar !” The motion was strenu- 
ously opposed by a minority of three — John, Ida and Arthur; 
John asserting, in his business way, that the ceremony could 
be performed as well without the absentee ; and that his example 
of punctuality in keeping engagements should be improved. The 
two others deprecated a change, without distinctly stating their 
reasons. They carried the day. Poplar-grove was visible for 
miles around, on the moonless night of the bridal. Lights blazed 
in every window ; starry festoons depended from the trees ; and 
in the garden, the glow-worm fairies might have been celebrating 
the royal birth-night. In doors, the scene was one of bewilder- 
ing beauty. Fairies of mortal mould flitted through the summer 
bowers, at whose decoration, Flora must have presided in person. 
Carry was too modest to covet display; but Dr. Carleton was 
wealthy and liberal; and Ida and Mrs. Dana, who were both 
fond of splendor and excitement, had his hearty concurrence in 
their designs. The former planned everything. It was a new 
business to her ; but she struck out boldly, copying a gorgeous 
conception of her fertile brain, guided solely by her eye and 
judgment. Her subordinates marvelled at first ; but had too 
much faith in her to rebel ; and as the idea was developed, their 
industry and delight surpassed her expectations. When com- 
pleted, the effect was so novel and pleasing, they were ready to fall 
down and worship her; and more cultivated taste did not derogate 
from their eulogistic approbation. Dr. Carleton thanked her with 
moistened eyes; Arthur laughingly wondered — what talent next ? 
her versatile genius kept him in a state of perpetual wonderment;” 
but Carry’s silent kiss was dearer praise than all. As first brides- 
maid, and an inmate of the mansion, she was virtually mistress of 
the ceremonies; Mrs, Dana confining her attention to the arrange- 
ment of the banquet, dressing-rooms and chambers. Carry had 
invited all of her schoolmates who were within reach ; among those 
who came, were Anna Talbot, Emma Glenn, Ellen Morris, who was 
staying at Mr. Truman’s, and our old friend Celestia; — cousin 
Lucindy” being again conveniently I'emembered. The three first 

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named, were bridesmaids. Ida walked with Mr. Euston ; and 
as the train formed, she thought of the two who would have 
taken precedence of him ; of the chilly sleep of the pulseless 
heart, and the desolation of the living one ; while the irrevo- 
cable words were said, she heard, like the echo of a knell — 
<< caring for nothing, striving for nothing — now that my guiding 
star has set and the sigh, which contended with her smile of 
salutation to the bride, was <<poor Charley!^' 

Ellen Morris, too, may have had her reminiscences; this 
event could not but revive the recollection of her sister^s bridal, 
not a year before ; but the sparkling hazel orbs were unshadowed 
as then ; her manner as charmingly coquettish. Celestia had 
not forgotten Mr. Euston ; and seized an early opportunity to 
renew their flirtation. The gentleman was not so willing ; he 
was not exactly in love with his partner ; but was not insensible 
to her attractions, and that in his position he was envied by most 
of the single men present — cordially hated by one. Ida knew 
not that he was taxing every energy to achieve fascination. She 
felt the nervousness of a youthful hostess that things should << go 
off’’ well ; the company be pleased with their reception and them- 
selves ; conscious, that although the praise or censure might not 
be put upon her, yet in reality the result depended upon her 
exertions. Solicitude yielded to triumphant satisfaction, as the 
electric sympathy spread, leaping from tongue to tongue ; and 
evolving, in dazzling coruscations, from kindling eyes. She did 
not seek her reward then, but she had it. Few were so blind 
and ungrateful, as not to recognise her hand in the pleasures 
offered to them. The girls, the most fastidious of the various 
classes for whose whims a party-giver has to cater, forgave her 
magnet influence upon the choicest beaux, as they were them- 
selves well-supplied notwithstanding; the old people were charmed 
with her respectful affability ; and of her immediate attendants, 
there was not one who was not convinced that he contributed 
most to her amusement. 

Di-nature is indigenous to all soils, and spite creates its own 
food ; and she did not escape wholly unscathed. She overheard 
the epithets, << flirt,” and dashing,” in the same breath with 
her name ; but she laughed at the silly shot. If she flirted., no 
one was offended or injured ; if she dashed, she did it with a 


ALONE. 


219 


grace her maligners tried vainly to copy. As she left the supper- 
room, a glance at the hall-mirror showed that her head-dress 
was disordered ; and she repaired to the dressing-room to rectify 
it. She paused before the glass there, in unfeigned wonder at 
the reflected figure. It was the first time a spark of personal 
vanity had ever inflamed her mind. She knew that she was 
admired ; she believed, because she amused people by her 
sprightly repartee ; compliments upon her appearance were for- 
gotten as soon as heard, leaving, as their only trace, contempt 
for their author. To-night, the thoughtful eyes were alive with 
light; the cheeks, usually colorless, as rosy as Carry’s; and the 
wreathing smile imparted a wondrous beauty to the proud lips. 
A softer, sweeter happiness succeeded the girlish exultation — 
pardonable since it was short-lived — she turned from the mirror, 
with indifierence, as she murmured — 

Young, loving and beloved! 

These are brief words, but — ” 

An exclamation interrupted the quotation. She snatched up a 
letter from the table. It must have come this afternoon, and 
they forgot to give it me. How unkind I” This was too public 
a place, there was constant passing in and out ; but she could 
not be debjyred its perusal until the guests’ departure. A closet 
opened beyond the chamber ; she carried a lamp in thither, and 
bolted the door. He wrote kindly, but more constrainedly than 
formerly ; and the sense of some phrases was confused, as if he 
had commenced them, meaning to say one thing, and changed 
his mind ere the conclusion. His sister had been very ill, he 
said, but was now out of danger; and his statement of this 
simple fact appeared embarrassed. She read two pages in per- 
plexity whether to chide his ambiguity, or her unsettled 
thoughts; And now, my dear friend,” so ran the third, ^‘1 
have to solicit indulgence for my egotism, while I speak of an 
event of incomparable importance — and than which, nothing was 
more remote from my thoughts, four months ago. Annie has 
another nurse besides myself this summer; an early playmate of 
ours, a gentle girl, who, I think, must resemble your friend 
Carry, in character and person. She visited Annie early in 
April; and an angel of healing she has proved to our beloved 
suflerer. It is an affecting sight — one so young and fair, desert- 


220 


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ing the society she would adorn, for the wearisome offices of a 
sick-room. I have said that she is gentle, and in disposition 
and deportment essentially feminine ; — add to these, the intelli- 
gence and accomplishments of a strong and thoroughly-trained 
mind ; and you will not be surprised that she has gained our 
hearts; — will not accuse me of precipitancy, when you hear that 
I have sought and obtained her promise to return to us, united 
by a dearer tie than the bonds of friendship. I do not merit 
this gift at the hands of Providence; for I have rebelled, in times 
past, at the strokes I knew were just, but could not acknowledge 
were merciful. There is nothing earthly which can compare 
with the love of a true-hearted woman. — If I ever neede(^au 
incentive to industry I have it in this. Months — ^years, perhaps 
— must elapse before our union. It may be said, I have not 
acted prudently in forming an engagement, whose consumma- 
tion is so distant ; but I have obeyed the voice of my heart and 
conscience.^^ 

Aye ! crumple the sheet in your grasp, and sink to the earth — 
a crushed thing ! struck down from the zenith of your pride and 
bliss — crushed and mangled — but living and feeling I Grrief 
does not always stun — it seldom kills — you must live, although 
each lacerated heart-string is crying out for death ! Say not that 
it came without warning ! Was there no voice in your early 
bereavement — ^in the stern lessons of your girlhood — in the frus- 
tration of an hundred cherished purposes — in Lynn’s suicidal 
madness — in Ellen’s remorse — in Charley’s withered heart? 
Why were you made to feel, see, know these, if not to teach 
you, that they who lean upon mortal’s love trust to the weakest 
of rotten reeds — they who sow the wind, must reap the whirl- 
wind ” — black, bitter, scorching ! 


ALONE. 


221 


CHAPTEE XX. 

“ I NEYER thought you unreasonable before, Ida.^’ 

I am sorry you should now, Carry. 

How can I help it, when after travelling with us for weeks 
you suddenly resolve to return to Eastern Virginia by yourself; 
and to that lonesome place in the country, which you have not 
visited for years 

I have an escort j a gentleman who is on his way to Eich- 
mond, and will take charge of me.^^ 

But why this notion, just as we decided to go north ? Has 
your curiosity to behold Niagara diminished since your sight of 
< the Bridge?^ ” 

<< Frankly and truly, I do not care to see it. I would not 
ride to the House Mountain yonder, if Mont Blanc, the Lake of 
Como, and the Great Fall were to be seen from the other side.^' 

Do you hear that, Arthur?’^ said Carry, despairingly, to her 
husband, who was reading. 

“ No — what is it?^^ 

“ This obstinate young lady is about to deprive us of the 
honour of her company. She is going back to Staunton to- 
morrow.’^ 

To the Lunatic Hospital ?” inquired Arthur, putting aside 
his book. You are not in earnest, Ida ? Are you tired of 
us ; or do you dislike our sketched route ? If the last, we will 
alter it.” 

And if the first, we will alter ourselves,” interposed Carry, 
laughingly. 

I would have you and your plans remain as they are. I am 
not well, and require rest — not change. My desire to see old 
Sunnybank is not a caprice, as Carry supposes ; I have had it in 
contemplation for a long time. Mr. Eead deterred me from it 
by representations of the discomfort I would encounter; the 
only white man left on the plantation being the overseer. This 
summer he has been removed, and his place given to a former 

19 * 


222 


ALONE. 


tenant of mother’s; a man of family; and the accommodations, 
which serve for them, will keep me from hardship.” 

“ She is sick,” said Carry, when Ida retired. She has not 
been herself lately. Were it not that she is used to dissipation, 
I should think that the round of parties, after our wedding, over- 
tasked her strength. Yet, she enjoyed them.” 

Her malady may be of the mind,’^ said Dr. Dana, thought- 
fully. Do you consider this probable ?” 

Oh, no ! she was well and happy when she came to us ; and 
what can have occurred since to affect her ?” 

You are right, I dare say;” returned he, absently. He was 
pondering upon her behaviour after Charley’s departure. 

Argument did not dissuade, and conjecture was baffled in the 
effort to explain this unexpected movement. They parted in 
Lexington — Ida to recross the mountains eastward; they, to 
travel north by way of Harper’s Ferry. 

If there is an enjoyment, which is purely of the intellect, its 
usurpation is man’s high prerogative; the sticklers for woman’s 
equal rights” will never establish her title to it. The mind 
masculine may be nourished and exercised, and attain its full 
size, while the heart is dwarfed and sickly;— as with twin 
children, one sometimes grows to man’s stature, healthy and 
strong ; and the other pines and dies in childhood. In woman, 
intellect and the affections are united from their birth; — like 
the Siamese brothers, one refuses food, which is denied its com- 
panion; and who dare peril the life of both by severing the 
ligament which joins them ? 

Ida’s route was through the garden-spot of our State — the 
magnificent Valley, with its heaven-bathed, impregnable eyries, 
among which our country’s Father selected a resting-place 
for Freedom’s standard — American Thermopylae, should the 
invader’s power drive him from every other hold ; — where one 
may travel for days, encircled by the Briarean arms, the sister 
ridges stretch, in amity, towards each other — each rolling its 
streams and clouds down to the verdant plains between ; — where 
morning and evening, the sun marshals his crimson and gold- 
, colored array upon the purple heights, which are coeval with 
him and Time ; and flings shadows and hues athwart them, in 
his day’s march, he never vouchsafes to Lowland countries ; — 


alone. 


223 


and this region was traversed with not a thought beyond a 
feverish wish to be at her journey’s end and rest. She stopped 
in Richmond but one night. Mr. Read and his daughter were 
out of town, and she went to a hotel. At dawn she was upon 
the road, with no attendant but the driver of her hack. Rachel 
had gone to Sunnybank a month before, to see her relations, 
little expecting her mistress to come for her. Ida’s spirits and 
health declined alarmingly, now that the necessity of eluding 
suspicion was over. She had never been sick a day in her life ; ^ 
but she began to feel that mental ills may be aggravated by 
bodily disease. The unnatural tension had been maintained too 
long. When Sunnybank appeared, she was unable to raise her 
head to look at it. The negroes flocked out at the phenomenon 
of a travelling carriage in the disused avenue ; and loud were 
their astonishment and compassion, as they recognised its 
occupant. 

I have come home to die, mother,” said she, as they lifted 
her out, and fainted in their arms. In the midst of their con- 
sternation, the family pride of the faithful underlings was 
stubborn. ‘‘ Their young mistress should not be carried to the 
•overseer’s;” and Aunt Judy, the keeper of the keys, hurried ofi" 
to unlock the house doors. Ida had a cloudy remembrance of 
awakening in her mother’s chamber, and of a gleaming fancy, 
that she was once more a child, aroused from a horrid, horrid 
dream, then her senses forsook her, and there was a wide hiatus 
in memory. It was night when she awoke again ; she was in 
the same room; — a fire burned in the chimney, and cast fan- 
tastic shapes upon the ceiling. Crouched in the corner of the 
fire-place, was a dusky figure, whose audible breathing sounded 
loudly through the apartment. Her slumbers were not very 
profound, however, for she sprang up at the feeble call — 
Rachel I” 

Miss Ida ! honey ! what do you want?” 

<< How long have I slept ? my head feels so strange !” 

That’s because you’ve been sick, honey.” 

What is the matter with me ?” 

Fever, dear — you caught it in them dreadful mountains, 
and have been laid up for four weeks. But you’ll git well, now 
— ^you were out of your head ’most all the time — and the doctor 
says you mustn’t talk.” 


224 


ALONE. 


Ida desisted, too weak to disobey. With vague curiosity, she 
followed her with her eyes, as she smoothed the counterpane, 
pushed up the bed on one side, and patted it down on the other; 
then she put the chunks’^ together upon the hearth, and there 
was the clinking of spoons and glasses at a table. 

Here’s your drink. Miss Ida,” she said, lifting her head 
with a care that proved her a practised nurse. It was cool and 
palatable, and the heavy lids sank in natural slumber. 

Mr. Grrant (the overseer) and his wife had not been remiss in 
their duty to the sick girl. She had the best medical attendance 
the county afforded ; and Mr. Read was written to at the com- 
mencement of the attack ; the letter was unanswered — probably 
not received. Rachel was <^sure Miss Jenny or Miss Carry 
would come in a minute, if they knew she was sick;” but was 
ignorant of the address of either. Their nursing might have 
been more skilful, but it could not have exceeded hers in tender- 
ness. She took turns with Mrs. Gfrant in watching, but she 
never left the room except for her meals. She was amply repaid 
for her labor of love by the improvement which henceforward 
was apparent in her patient. Her raptures awoke no responsive 
harmony in Ida’s bosom. 

Her physician was a son of Mr. Hall, the old minister, who 
had gone to his rest. 

<< You must exert yourself. Miss Ida,” said he. Have you 
walked yet ?” 

<^No, sir.” 

“ Cannot you do it ?” 

<<I don’t know, indeed, sir.” 

<< But, my dear child, nature cannot do everything ; we must 
aid her. It is as binding upon us to save our own lives, as those 
of others.” 

<< When they are worth saving.” 

You want more powerful tonics' than any I have;” said the 
doctor, eyeing her curiously. I must think your case over. 
I command you to. walk across the room twice to-day, three 
times to-morrow, and so on. See that she minds me, Rachel !” 

Rachel gave her no peace, until she consented to sit up awhile 
in the easy-chair, by the window. Sunnybank was sadly changed. 
The buildings and enclosures were in good repair, and the fields 


ALONE. 


225 


cultivated; but the walks and shrubbery were neglected; and 
the garden, into which Ida was looking, overgrown with high 
weeds. Here and there a rose-tree struggled for a foothold, a 
scanty growth of yellow leaves clinging to the mossy stems ; the 
sweetbrier still hung over the window, its long, bare arms rat- 
tling in the cold wind like fleshless bones; the tangled grass in 
the yard had run to seed, and piles of dead leaves were heaped 
against the pailings. She could not see the grave-yard; she 
knew, though, that the willows were leafless, and how the sprays 
were waving in their melancholy dance, and whispering their old 
song— Alone If alone then, how now ? sick — dying, per- 
haps ! where were those who had proudly borne the name of 
friend? where the sister, in whose bosom she had lain for 
months, and eased her sorrows and heightened her joys ? the 
brother, she had averred, was all kindness and truth ?” and 
oh ! where he, who had filled her heart to the brim with the 
rich, red wine of life, to change, in a moment, to fiery, deadly 
poison ! She felt no resentment against him ; she was too 
utterly broken-hearted, she thought, even if she had cause ; and 
she had not. Her wilful self-deception had been her snare; 
instead of studying his heart, she had judged it by her own. 
Were his candor — his undisguised interest in her welfare, tokens 
of love, that ever seeks concealment? No ! he had tried to lead 
her, a wayward child, to the paths of happiness; and she had 
seen nought but the hand which pointed the way. There was 
prophetic meaning in Lynn's eye, when he spoke of “ the finest 
growth of heart and soul, which you flattered yourself were climb- 
ing heavenward, twining with strengthening tendrils around the 
altar of that one love !" She had been impious enough to ima- 
gine that she was imbibing a fondness for holy things ; her heart 
had burned within her, as he talked of the loved^ theme ; she 
had read the Scriptures, and prayed, in words, for light and 
guidance. And by the fierce rebellion which fired her breast — 
rebellion against — hatred of the Being, this lip service had blas- 
phemed, she knew that she had never bowed in soul to Him ; 
and her heart — broken, though she said it was, — trusting still — 
adoring still the mortal, through the great love she bore him — 
yet reared itself in angry defiance, saying to the Chastener, — ‘‘ I 
will not submit What had she done, to be left desolate — 


226 


ALONE. 


comfortless in the spring-time of life ! << He is, they tell me, 

merciful and all-powerful ; — let Him give me back my love, and 
I will believe in him/^ And as day by day passed, and there 
were no tidings of Carry or the Danas, she felt a morose com- 
placency in the confirmation of her hard thoughts of them, and 
in repeating, am not humbled yet I” 

Uncle Will wants to know if he can come in to see you, 
Miss Ida,” said Rachel, one Sabbath afternoon. 

Ida was dressed, and rocking herself listlessly before the fire. 

Let him come,” she replied, languidly. 

This man was her mother’s steward and factotum; a hale, 
fine-looking negro; better educated than the generality of his 
caste, and devotedly pious. He brushed off a tear with the 
back of his hand, as his mistress greeted him. He had not 
seen her since she was grown, and was moved by her likeness to 
her mother. 

You would not have known me, — would you, uncle Will ?” 
she asked. 

t‘Yes ma’am; you are your mother’s own child.” 

« Indeed ! I am called like my father.” 

You’re like her, ma’am — in body, and like her in spirit, too 
I hope.” 

^^No, Uncle Will, you cannot expect that; — she was an 
angel.” 

Better than that, Mistis — she was a Christian !” 

<< And how is that better?” said Ida, surprised at the reply. 
<< She is an angel now — is she not ?” 

<< No ma’am ; she is one of the spirits of the just made perfect ; 
and according to my notion, that’s better than to be a born 
seraph. Angels may praise and glorify the Lamb, but they 
have’nt so much to be thankful for as we.” 

I do not understand you. They have been happy from all 
Eternity; and those who have lived in this world, have had 
sorrow and pain and sin — ^ mourning all their days.’ ” 

« They needn’t, ma’am — 

‘Why should the children of a King 
Go mourning all their days?’ ” 

said Will readily — ^^He holds us up under whatever trouble wo 
have ; unless we bring it upon ourselves by our transgressions, 


ALO N E , 


227 


and He will deliver us then, if we call to Him. The Saviour 
is the Christian’s glory and song — He didn’t die for angels.” . ^ 

Ida mused. There is a question I wish to ask you,” said 
she. << God can do as He pleases ; — can He not ?” 

Certainly, Mistis — ‘He worketh according to the counsel 
of His own will.’ ” 

“ And He is very pitiful and gracious ?” she continued. 

“ Like as a father pitieth his children, ‘ Mistis.’ ” 

“ Then when He knows that we are miserable and sinful and 
helpless, why does not He take pity on us, and make us good 
and happy ?” 

“ He will, ma’am.” 

“ But He does not. He only waits for us to love anything, 
before He robs us of it. So far from liking to see us happy, it 
would seem lhat He grudged us the poor crumbs we picked up 
of ourselves.” 

“Because they ain’t good for us, Mistis.” 

“ Why did He allow us to take them, then ? why wait, until 
we have tasted and found them sweet, before He snatches them 
away ?” 

“ I remember, Mistis, when you were a little thing, no higher 
than my knee, you were mightily taken with some red peppers 
growing in the garden. • Your mother called you away from the 
bed, four or five times, and ordered you not to touch them. By 
and by I spied you running down the walk towards them, when 
you thought she didn’t see you ; and I was starting in a hurry 
to fetch you back, but she stopped me. ‘ No, Will !’ says she, 

‘ the punishment sin brings with it, is remembered longer than 
a hundred warnings. She will have a useful lesson.’ I was 
loath to have you hurt; but I had to mind her. Your lesson 
was right hard ; for your mouth and face and hands were swelled 
and burning for hours. But you didn’t go near the pepper-bed 
again. And it seems to me, ma’am, that the Almighty treats 
us just so. We run crazy after things, that are like the red 
peppers, — pretty outside, but hot as fire when we get to playing 
with them. He doesn’t push us towards them — He lets us alone ; 
and we are mighty apt to run to Him, after we’ve got a fair taste. 
You didn’t know but your mother would whip you for disobey- 
ing her; but you went straight to her when you felt the smart.” 


228 


ALONE . 


This does not follow, of course, uncle Will. I have tasted 
some hot peppers since those days ; and I cannot see any mercy 
or use in the lesson.” 

Maybe you haven’t asked an explanation, ma’am.’' 

“ From whom ? from you ?” 

«'No ma’am ! From Him, unto whom belong the deep things 
of the Almighty. And if He doesn’t show you their meaning 
now — He will, sometime. Children are often puzzled at their 
parents’ dealings.” 

As he was leaving, she observed his wistful look. 

<<Have you any requests to make, uncle Will? you will not 


ask anything unreasonable, I know. 

I hope not, ma’am. You see — we’ve been in the habit of 
holding our Sunday night prayer-meetings in the basement-room, 
under this. We used to meet there in your mother’s time. She 
had the room fixed on purpose for us. When it’s clear weather, 
in summer, we meet out-doors ; — its getting cool now — 

And you are afraid of disturbing me ; is that it ?” 

Yes ma’am,” said he, relieved. 

^^You maybe quite easy as regards that. Has that room 
been ceiled yet?” 

<^No ma’am — ’twould have been if — ^you all had stayed 
here.” • 

“ I am glad that it is not. 
used to love those old tunes ! 
had no other disturbance !” 

He had got into the entry, when she recalled him ; and with 
the sad smile she had worn during their conversation, said. 

Uncle Will ! if you think I have not done hankering after for- 
bidden fruit, you may pray, that I may be cured.” 

I will, Mistis ! God bless you !” 

She had forgotten, and Will did not know, that all the services 
could be heard through the floor. The worshippers assembled 
so quietly, that she was not aware of this, until Will’s tones 
startled her with the idea that he was in the room. He com- 
menced the exercises by reading the fourteenth chapter of John’s 
gospel. (( Let not your hearts be troubled ; ye believe in God, 
believe also in me.” He offered neither comment nor explana- 
tion. He was a believer in what he called << the pure Word}” 


I can hear your hymns— how I 
Have your meeting. I wish I 


ALONE. 


229 


<< if I can’t comprehend one part,” he was wont to say, “ I com- 
fort myself by thinking that there is so much that is plain even 
to my weak understanding.” The quavering voice of an aged 
man led in prayer; and in spite of its verbiage and incorrect 
grammar, Ida listened, for it was sincere. They sang in the 
sweet voices for which the race is so remarkable, 

" There is a land of pure delight,” 

with a wild, beautiful chorus, repeated each time with more 
emphasis and fervor — 

“ Oh sing to me of Heaven ! 

In Heaven alone, no sin is known, , 

And there’s no parting there !” 

Ida shut her eyes and lay motionless, lest she should lose a 
note. Forgetful of her unholy enmity to her God — her distrust 
of her kind — borne upon the melody her soul arose to Pisgah’s 
top, and looked yearningly upon the ‘‘ sweet fields beyond the 
swelling flood,” heard the jubilant song of the redeemed — 

“ In Heaven alone, no sin is known, 

And there’s no parting there !” 

A solemn hush followed; and Will said, <‘Let us pray” 
His deliberate accents quickened into animation, with the unfold- 
ing of his petitions; spurning the fetters of his imperfect speech, 
his thoughts clothed themselves in the language of the Divine 
Word; coming to a King, he adopted unconsciously the ver- 
nacular of princes. In speaking of Ida, his manner was ear- 
nestly affectionate. We beseech Thee, 0 Father, to deal 
gently with thine handmaid, whom thou hast set over us in 
worldly things. Thou hast seen fit that she should bear the 
yoke in her youth, hast made her to possess wearisome nights, 
and days of vanity ; hast mingled her bread with tears, and her 
drink with weeping; Thou hast taken from her father and 
mother, — the hope of her soul, and the desire of her eyes; it is 
the Lord’s doings, and it is marvellous in our eyes and in hers. 
Lighten her eyes. Our Father ! though weeping has endured for 
a night. Thou hast promised that joy shall come in the morning; 
tell her, that no affliction for the present seemeth joyous, but 
grievous; but that Thou wilt make it work out for her an eternal 
weight of glory; that whom Thou lovest Thou chasteneth, and 

20 


230 


ALONE. 


upon Thy Blessed Son Thou didst lay the ajfflictions and ini- 
quities of us all. May her hungry soul run to Him, from the 
far country in which she has been living, and may He heal her 
broken bones, give her the oil of gladness for mourning — the 
garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness.^' 

The hot, dry channel was broken up, and tears flowed in plen- 
teous measure. From the softening soul sprang her first real 
prayer. Oh ! be my Father and Comforter V* 

When Kachel awoke in the morning, she saw that her mis- 
tress had unbarred the shutters of the window by her bed, and 
was reading. Her face had a still deeper shade of gloom ; but 
the attached girl drew a favorable augury from this mark of 
interest in anything, except her own thoughts. The book was a 
mother’s gift — a Bible ; she had read it with tolerable regularity 
for the giver’s sake, but she found herself now lamentably igno- 
rant of its contents. She read of the unapproachable purity of 
the Immaculate, of judgment and justice; denunciation of the 
wicked, and the fearful looking for of vengeance” that remained 
to rebellious children ; in vain she searched it for a message to 
her — a promise she could apply. Her alarm augmented, as the 
fruitlessness of her endeavors became apparent. The life she 
had lightly esteemed was inestimably dear, as she realised what 
eternity was ; and her heart was still with fear at the thought 
of the uncertain tenure by which she held it. In times past she 
would have blushed at these shakings of spirit; now she could 
not banish them. She would not be left alone an instant ; she 
was afraid to sleep, lest she should not awake in time. She had 
said, what evil have I done ?” she saw now that she had com- 
mitted evil, and that continually ; as she beheld idolatry, 
hatred, variance, emulation, wrath, envyings” in the same enu- 
meration with monstrous vices — a catalogue which brings to 
our ears the warring clash of Pandemonium, rendered more hor- 
ribly discordant by contrast with the gentle music of << Love, joy, 
peace, lorig-sufiering.” 

In angry despair she threw the volume aside ; but tortured 
conscience drove her to it again. I will be a Christian,” was 
her primal resolve, — as the terrors of the law flamed before her. 

- — “ I must be !” and a week of labor and agony ended in a total 
sinking of hope, and an exhausted cry, I cannot !’^ 


ALONE. 


231 


It was a calm Sabbath in the Indian Summer, and her chair 
was wheeled to the door. The “ summer’s late, repentant smile” 
shone fondly upon the landscape; the russet fields, the dis- 
mantled forests, the swift-rolling river. 

She had seen it look just so, often ; when the breeze played 
among the child’s curls, and lent a quicker bound to a light 
heart — but faded in body — prematuraly old in spirit — she saw 
no beauty in earth — had no treasure in heaven. Her Bible was 
upon her knees ; she turned the pages indolently, and was say- 
ing, for the hundredth time, No hope !” when a passage 
appeared to start up from the page. Could it have been there 
while she sought it carefully and with tears ? The Lord hath 
called thee as a woman, forsaken and grieved in spirit ; and as a 
wife of youth, when thou wast refused, saith my God. For a 
small moment have I forsaken thee, but with great mercies will 
I gather thee ; in a little wrath I hid my face from thee for a 
moment, but with everlasting kindness will I have mercy upon 
thee, saith the Lord, thy Bedeemer. * * * * Oh ! thou 

afflicted, tossed with tempests, and not comforted ! behold, I will 
lay thy stones with fair colors, and lay thy foundations with 
sapphires !” 

As Will passed under the window on his way to Church, he 
was arrested by an unusual sound. No one was visible, but his 
heart and eyes ran over, as he recognised the voice that sang 
softly — 

Other refuge have I none, 

Hangs my helpless soul on Thee ; 

Leave, oh ! leave me not alone. 

Still support and comfort me. 

All my trust on Thee is staid, 

All my help from Thee I bring; 

Cover my defenceless head 
With the shadow of Thy wing.’> 


232 


ALONE. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

The trembling which mingled with her transport, was so 
foreign to Ida’s ardent temperament, that she doubted sometimes, 
if she had indeed found peace. But as her filial love and trust 
strengthened with time, she rejoiced with more hope. Much of 
the old leaven was left ; her imperious temper still chafed at 
restraint, and she was disheartened at the discovery, that the 
loveliest of the Blessed Three” graces was most difficult to 
practise. She leaned upon a Saviour’s arm, and was willing to 
walk in the ways of His appointment, but the weak heart pleaded 
that He would not send her back into the world. Sweet Sunny- 
bank, rich in associations ; — with its peaceful duties and holy 
enjoyments, must be more favorable to the advancement of her 
new life ; — she hoped against hope, that she might be permitted 
to remain. A letter from her guardian settled the point. With 
laconic terseness, he declared the thing impossible. By her 
father’s will, the estate was hers, when she was of age; until 
then, no preparatory step could be taken.” Her scheme had 
been to invite a sister of Mrs. Crant, an excellent woman, now 
dependent upon her brother-in-law, to reside with her, in the 
capacity of housekeeper and companion ; and leaving the control 
of her finances in Mr. Read’s hands, to devote herself to the 
improvement of her servants and poor neighbors. It was a praise- 
worthy enterprise, and it cost her a sharp pang to resign it, and 
prepare for the return, her guardian pressed, as desirable and 
proper.” Her trunks were packed ; and she had come in from 
a tour of the negro cabins, and a visit to her mother’s grave, to 
spend the last twilight in the room in which she was born — in 
which her mother had died. The November blast howled in 
the chimney; — here it was the music of early days; — in Rich- 
mond, it would be so dreary I 

She was not gloomy, although the firelight glistened upon 
cheeks wet with tears ; — she was not going away, as she had 
come — alone ; still she was sad at quitting her retreat, and in the 
prospect of the temptations awaiting her. There would be trials, 


ALONE. 


233 


too — trials of faith and patience and charity — and trials of feel- 
ing — what if she should be found wanting ! But a whisper 
tranquilised her — << Fear not — I am with thee \” Mrs. Grant 
opened the door. She held a lamp whose rays blinded Ida^s 
tender eyes. 

« A gentleman to see you, Miss Ida, — and as there was no 
fire in the drawing-room, Fve asked him into the dining-room 
announced the dame, who was remarkable rather for sterling 
goodness, than for grace and discretion. The door of communi- 
cation was wide open, and Ida had no alternative but to walk; 
directly into the adjoining apartment. Charley Dana met her, 
ere she had advanced three steps beyond the doorway. He was 
so shocked at her altered appearance that he could not speak at 
once, but stood, pressing her hands in his, and gazing into her 
face with inexpressible solicitude and tenderness. She must 
make an exertion. 

This is kind, Charley ! Am I to flatter myself that you 
have turned out of your way to see me 

No. I have looked neither to the right nor to the left. I 
came by the most direct route from Richmond. Sit down — you 
are not able to stand — and give an account of yourself. What 
in the name of all that is ridiculous and outrageous, brought 
you here alone, and has kept you here until the middle of the 
winter 

<<Not so bad as that, Charley I It is only the last month of 
Autumn. I came, because I did not want to go North, and was 
pining for a sight of the old place ; and have been sick ever 
since. But tell me of yourself. When did you return, and 
why have not you written to me?'' 

<< That is what I call < iced ! ' said Charley, with a laugh that 
sounded like former times. Haven't I sent letters to every 
post-office in the Union, and not received a line in answer, since 
you parted company with Arthur and Carry? I arrived at 
home, ten days ago. Mr. Read ^presumed' you were ^yet in 
the country, and would be back when you were ready J ohn 
and Jenny were in the dark ; had written and inquired to no 
purpose : daily dispatches were pouring in from Arthur, certify- 
ing that Carry was nearly deranged with anxiety. Yesterday, I 

20 * 


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met Mr. Kead, who told me you had been ^indisposed/ but would 
be down shortly. I asked your address, and here I am 

You could not be more welcome anywhere; but how unac- 
countable that your letters miscarried V' 

Easily explained ! I stopped down the road, at a house, 
half-tavern, half-store, where I espied < Post Office,^ painted upon 
a shingle, hung but of a dirty window ; and inquired the name 
of the place. < Thompsonburg / said the P. M. ^ Burg/ indeed ! 

< I thought there was an oflBce in this neighborhood, called < Oak- 
land / ’’ said I. 

<< ‘ Oh ! that’s discontinued more than a year ago/ answered 
he. ^ ’Twas at the Cross-roads below.’ ” 

Simple solution of a mystery which had led her to doubt her 
best earthly friends ! Charley looked at her intently. 

‘ Indisposition,’ forsooth ! Why, I’ll be hanged — ” 

No you wont, Charley ! Don’t say so.” 

Shot, then ! if I am sure that I am not talking to a spirit ! 
You’ve been to Death’s door. What made you sick ?” 

Oh ! a variety of causes-” 

‘‘ AYhich means, it’s, no business of mine to inquire. All I 
have to say is, that your friends would not have treated you, as 
you have them. If I had died in Missouri, I would ^ave left 

< good-bye,’ and a lock of my hair for you. You might have 
departed this life twenty times, and we been none the wiser.” 

“ How quarrelsome you are ! • I’ll never do so again, if you’ll 
forgive me this once.” 

(( Forgive ! I have nothing to forgive — ^you were privileged 
to do as you pleased; — only, if you had said adieu to the land 
of the living, it would have been a gratification to us to know it.” 

Ida laughed out so merrily that Mrs. Grant, who was super- 
intending the setting of the tea-table, raised her spectacles to 
look at her, and smiled gratifiedly. She and her husband sat at 
the table, and the guest’s “sociable ways” ingratiated him with 
them, before the meal was half over. They retired with the 
waiters, and Charley, dropping his bantering tone, established 
himself for a “ quiet coze.” It was strange that he should be 
the first confidant of Ida’s change of heart; — he, whom men 
styled careless — sometimes “ scofier.” 

He did not scofiT now ; — he paid diligent heed to her recital, 


ALONE. 


235 


and when it was finished— From my soul, I congratulate you V* 
he exclaimed. Would to Heaven, that I too believed 

You may/’ said Ida, timidly. 

You do not know the thickness of the crust around my heart, 
Ida ; — the unbelief, and ingratitude and worldliness. I can battle 
with men, and wear a bravado mask ; but I do not forget that I 
have a soul, and that it must be attended to. Whether I will 
ever do it, I cannot say. I think I must be the most hardened 
of sinners; — Lynn’s death would have subdued a less obdurate 
heart; — and do you know that, while thoroughly persuaded that 
it was a judgment aimed full at me — for he was my dearest 
friend, and I felt his loss, most of all who mourned him — I 
hated the Power which had dealt the blow, and scorned angrily 
the presumption, that I could be forced into measures !” 

“ You were not more wicked than I was. There is not a truer 
sentence in the Bible, than that the ‘ carnal mind is enmity against 
G-od.’ Ah ! Charley ! if we loved holy things more ! It is so 
mortifying to find our thoughts straying away from these sub- 
jects, when we are most desirous of contemplating them !” 

That is the fault of Old Adam — the ‘ body of death,’ Paul 
writes of;” replied he. I am not much of a Bible scholar, but 
it strikes me he says something in the next verse of a Deliverer, 
< who giveth us the victory.’ Why are Christians ever low-spirited, 
I wonder.” 

And poor Ida upbraided herself with the same query, many 
times within the next few days. She bore the partings and the 
journey better than Charley had feared she would. He did his 
best to save her pain and fatigue, but he saw, with secret reve- 
rence, that she was supported by a stronger Friend. 

<< We are almost there !” said he, letting down the carriage- 
window, upon the afternoon of their second day’s travel. 

Ida leaned out, and beheld the spires and roofs of the city. 
She was unprepared for the effect the sight had upon her. Recol- 
lections of her years of loneliness; the trials of her home-life; 
the one friendship of her school days; a brother’s fondness, and 
his doom; her love and its blight — rushed upon her with over- 
whelming force — she fell back upon the cushions, and wept aloud. 
She had not entirely recovered her composure, when they stopped 
at Mr. Read’s door. Josephine hardly knew the wasted figure, 


230 


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Charley carried, rather than led into the house ; and Mr. Read 
was, for once, shocked out of his dignity. 

« Why ! Mr. Dana ! Miss Ida ! bless my soul and body was 
his w?icharacteristic exclamation. 

Charley was in no humour for trifling, or he would have said, 
« Amen f ^ 

Miss Ida’s indisposition was not so unimportant as you sup- 
posed, you see, sir;” said he sarcastically. Thanks to the 
kind attentions of her country friends, she is now convalescent.” 

Hush, Charley ! please!” said a distressed whisper from the 
sofa, where he had laid her. << Mr. Grant wrote to you, Mr. 
Read said she, aloud ; but as you were travelling, we doubted 
whether you received the letter.” 

did not;” he answered, the flush going off from his brow. 

I was so carefully nursed, I did not require other attention;” 
she continued. << I should have regretted it, if your summer’s 
enjoyment had been interrupted needlessly. Dr. Hall, Mr. and 
Mrs. Grant were untiring in their kindness ; and Rachel here, 
ought to have a diploma to practise medicine.” 

It was a maxim with Mr. Read, that for every mischance, 
blame must rest somewhere; and Ida, having exculpated him, 
he could not do less than return the compliment, by pitching it 
back upon her. 

I do not presume to lecture you. Miss Ross ; but you will 
admit that this freak of yours was one of unsurpassed impru- 
dence. You left my roof under the protection of those, whom I 
considered fit guardians for a young lady.” Charley made a 
movement to speak ; but Ida’s imploring glance restrained him. 

I hear nothing of you for a long time; and you write, at last, 
from an uninhabited country-house, begging permission to take 
up your abode there. I refuse the preposterous request, and you 
are brought home reduced and weakened by a severe illness, of 
which I have not been informed. I cannot be responsible for 
what the world will say to all this. Miss Ross !” 

The rack could not have silenced Charley now. I will tell 
you what the world’s opinion is, sir ; and hold you responsible 
for your own words. ^ The world’ has said, in my hearing, that 
the guardian, who loses sight of a ward — a member of his family 
— for six months, without being apprised of, or inquiring into 


ALONE. 


237 


her locality and welfare, is unworthy of his trust. And if I 
describe his reception of an invalid, who might have perished 
through neglect, for all he knew or cared — < the world,' sir, will 
declare indignantly, that he is a disgrace to society and man- 
kind ! I have nothing more to say at present. If you take 
exception to my liberty of speech, you can call on me, and relieve 
your mind. Miss Ida, let me recommend to you to retire ; Mr. 
Head will finish his lecture to me — good afternoon, Miss Kead. 
Sir, I have the honor to bid you good-day !" 

Josephine burst forth with a torrent of invective ; which Ida 
did not stay to hear; nor did she see either of them again for 
two days. She was not well enough to go below; and they 
avoided her chamber. 

Mrs. Dana called that evening. Ida was preparing for bed ; 
and she supplanted Rachel as maid and nurse. Her softest, 
most nimble of hands undressed the tired, dispirited girl ; 
smoothed the pillows; and gave her a composing draught; and 
with her kiss warm upon her lips, her pitying eyes watching 
over her, and a prayer of thankfulness at her heart, Ida fell 
asleep. 

She learned to expect a daily visit from this dear friend; and 
rarely looked in vain. At her third coming she brought a note 
from Charley. He was happy to state;" he said; « that the 
skirmish which had excited her uneasiness, had arrived at a 
bloodless issue. Mr. Read and himself had had an interview ; 
he had apologised for using language to him, in his own house, 
which he considered himself justifiable in employing anywhere 
else ; and Mr. Read excused his harshness to her, by represent- 
ing the excitement of surprise and alarm, under which he was 
laboring at the time. It was agreed the matter should stop 
there — that is;" wrote Charley; that his bugbear, the world, 
shall not get hold of it." 

Josephine had received her orders; for she carried her work 
into Ida’s chamber, that day, and sat one hour, to a minute, 
never opening her lips, save in monosyllables to the questions 
Ida forced herself to ask. Abandoning seclusion so soon as she 
had sufficient strength, the latter joined the family at meals, and 
remained longer in their society than she was wont to do for- 
merly; and if her hope of eventually conquering their dislike 


238 


ALONE. 


did not increase, her meekness and patience did. She had occa- 
sion for it all. Josephine was quick to discover that she was 
happier in her affliction and debility, than she was in health and 
prosperity; and when the truth came to light, her natural 
malignity to the cause, and her hatred of its humble professor 
triumphed in the fiendish anticipation of how she could, by 
deriding one, wound the other. She would have descried soil 
upon an angeFs robe. Ida was a young Christian, contending 
with the manifold disadvantages of temper, habit and irreligious 
associates ; and her wily assailant was not passive long for lack 
of weapons and opportunity for her warfare. Any symptoms of 
a convalescents irritability ; the utterance of a taste or opinion, 
which did not tally with her standard of consistency, was marked 
and laid by for use ; and no complaisance or concession on Ida’s 
part, moved her purpose. Mr. Read paid his pew-rent, went to 
church once every fine Sunday, and had a pleasant impression 
that by so doing, he was << keeping along paying interest as 
it were, upon the debt, sanguine that when the distant pay-day 
arrived, he would be able, by one prodigious effort, to discharge 
the principal. He << hated cant, because it was silly and use- 
less and if he did not chime in his daughter’s slurs upon reli- 
gion, and the conduct of Christians, he never rebuked her by 
word or sign. Watchfully, prayerfully, Ida strove to keep her 
feet in the path, and by no misstep or fall, to cast obloquy upon 
the name she loved. 

Anna Talbot, a friendly, good-natured girl — her brother’s 
superior in sense and feeling, was a near neighbor; and she ran 
in directly after breakfast one morning, full of a ball to which 
she was invited. Josephine had a ticket also, and was wishing 
for her — she must consult her about her dress. 

Ma has bought me a lovely, white silk,” said Anna. “I 
am to wear sprigged illusion over it — ^but oh ! I was so disap. 
pointed! I wanted silver-sprigged, you know, like that Miss 
What’s-her-name, from Philadelphia, wore to Mrs. Porter’s 
party — but although I ransacked every store in the city, I could 
not find a piece. What will you get, Josey 

I have not quite determined.” 

Do let us dress alike I There is another pattern of silk at 

p 'g 


ALONE. 280 

^<'W’ell! I will look at it. What head-dress?’^ inquired 
Josephine. 

Oh ! that’s another novelty ! I saw two darling little loves 
of wreathes down town — rose-buds and lilies-of-the-valley — pure 

white. I asked Mrs. V to lay them aside until to-day. I 

thought of you. 

The darling little loves” were pronounced au fait. 

« What ornaments?” said Josephine, who was in her element. 

Anna made a gesture of despair. There’s the trpuble ! I 
have nothing but those rubies, and they will not do at all. I 
dislike to go without any ; but it cannot be helped.” 

Pearls would correspond well with your dress,” observed 

Ida. 

Ah, yes ! my dear ! and if I had a pearl fishery, I would 
draw upon my divers forthwith ; — unfortunately I have not.” 

<< Are you certain ?” returned Ida, smiling. Imagine me a 
diver. I have a neat set, which is at your service, if you will 
honor niie by wearing it.” 

Oh ! you dearest of girls !” exclaimed Anna. But you 
want them yourself — I beg your pardon — I forgot you were in 
mourning ; — but your black is not too deep for ornaments.” 

‘^But her odor of sanctity is too strong,” said Josephine. 
<< She has renounced the pomps and vanities you and I love, 
Anna, and < put on the ornament of -a meek and quiet spirit.’ 
How do you reconcile it with your conscience, to let your pearls 
attend a ball, Ida? How much scouring and praying will cleanse 
them again for your use ?” 

Oh ! I will get you or Anna to air them for me, once in a 
while, and trust to time to purify them,” said Ida, willing to 
pass it off as a joke. 

<<I)o you really think it sinful to go to balls?” asked Anna, 
wonderingly. 

I could not do it innocently,” replied Ida. 

Why not ? you used to like them as well as the rest of us.” 

For pity’s sake ! no sermonising !” rudely interrupted Jose- 
phine. I can show you the root of her piety in two words. 
Don’t you remember a certain gentleman, whose handsome face 
and saintly smile set off his religion so well ?” 

^^Oh!” laughed Anna; «<but I thought he liked her very 
well as she was” 


210 


ALONE. 


Nothing likQ making assurance doubly sure answered the 
other. Pity he did not return to town this winter. Love’s 
labor is lost.” 

Why, Ida ! what a flirt you are !” cried Anna. When 
everybody says you are engaged to Mr. Dana !” 

Everybody is wrong, then,” said Ida, calmly. 

Everybody is right!’* contradicted Josephine. She reads 
in her Bible, that she < must love all men and her being in 
mourning for one beau, and dying with love for another, are no 
impediments to her engagement with a third. This is Plan- 
tonisra with«, vengeance. 

Fie ! Josephine I” said Anna, perceiving by Ida^s face, that 
the pleasantry, as she still thought it, was going too far. << You 
know, as well as I do, that Mr. Holmes was only a friend. Mrs. 
Dana is in black for him too — it is as reasonable to say that she 
was in love with him.” 

<< She may have been, for anything I know to the contrary;” 
retorted Josephine, growing more and more insolent. I don’t 
pretend to understand the morals of ^ the clique.’ ” 

I am going up stairs, Anna,” said Ida, “ and will send you 
the pearls. If they please you, you are welcome to them, when- 
ever you wish them.” 

Anna pulled her down. << Don’t go ! I want to talk with you. 
You must not regard Josephine’s nonsense — it is only a foolish 
jest.” 

One, which must not be repeated !” said Ida. << I may not 
notice an insult to myself, but if my friends are slandered, I 
must defend them.” 

Defend them, as long and loud as you choose ;” replied 
Josephine, retaining her disagreeable smile and tone. “Recrimi- 
nate too, if you like. It is but politic in you to fight for your 
patrons. Aha ! that flash of the eye was Christian-like I Did 
you never observe, Anna, that when the ‘ brethren’ are wrought 
up to the belligerent point, they are the fiercest of combatants ?” 

Ida hurried up stairs — threw herself upon the bed, and cried 
bitterly; unobservant of Rachel’s presence. 

Oh ! Father ! pity me ! I am so weak and wicked I” she 
prayed. 

Rachel went out boiling with rage. 


ALONE. 


241 


<< More of that Evil’s work ! Hope I may be forgiven for 
Baying sech a word, but if she didn’t come from the bottomless 
ditch, I should jist like to be reformed whar she was made ! I 
know mighty well whar she’ll go. I ain’t a goin’ to stand it! 
Miss Ida shan’t be terrified forever and ever.. I’ll speak my 
mind to Miss Jenny, before I’m a day older; maybe Mars’ John 
can get her away from this dreadful place. Miss Ida’d never 
forgive me ; but she needn’t know nothin’ about my tellin’ !” 

<< Miss Jenny” heard her with indignant astonishment; but 
giving her no encouragement to proceed with her tale, or to hope 
for an amelioration of her mistress^ condition, merely said she 
was sorry she could do nothing for her; and advised her to 
imitate Ida’s prudence and silence; counsel which confirmed 
Rachel’s scepticism in white folks’ friendship.” Ida thought 
Charley kinder than ever, that evening. If he had known the 
severity of her day’s discipline, he could not have been more 
tender and consolatory. His inattention to Josephine, who also 
had visitors, troubled her somewhat; but she had the comforting 
reflection that she was not to blame for it. The day of the ball, 
he took her and Mrs. Dana to ride. They called at the residence 
of a country friend, to whose green-house Charley had the entree; 
and he improved his privilege by culling a bouquet of Camelias, 
tea-roses and orange blossoms ‘Hor the belle of the ball;” he told 
his hostess. When they were again in the carriage, he handed 
them to Ida, with a laugh. << I have no idea of going to the 
ball, and you would be the belle, if you were to attend ; so there 
was no fibbing, was there?” The flowers were beautiful, and at 
this season, very rare; and Ida bore them home carefully, and 
put them in water in her room. They were sweet company; she 
could only watch, and pet, and talk to them the rest of the day. 

Mr. Read was uncommonly jocose at supper time. 

“ Make yourself pretty, Josey,” said he, lighting his lamp; 
<< you don’t have me to escort you every evening.” 

Josephine looked after him with a sneer. << A mighty honor! 
If he had a spark of generosity or politeness, he would have 
bought me a bouquet, if they do ask such enormous prices. I 
have a good mind not to go, I shall feel so mean without one.” 

Ida said she regretted it; and she did feel for her. She knew, 
that to party-goers, these little things are no trifles; she had 

21 


242 


ALONE. 


Been a girl dull or sulky for an entire evening, because of a 
deficiency of this sort. 

I wish I could help her/^ she was saying to herself, as she 
returned to her apartment. The aroma that stole upon her senses 
said, you can.^' She was no heroine, for she stood over her 
flowers, and doubted and pondered for a good half hour, before 
her wavering mind rested upon its pivot; and then a tear bedewed 
a Camelia^s spotless bosom, as she emptied the vase, and saying 
aloud, <<If thine enemy thirst, give him drink,^^ set about arrang- 
ing them anew. Her Christmas rose-tree was hanging with buds, 
which, on the morrow, would be blossoms, but she despoiled it of 
its nodding pearls ; and adding geraniums and citronaloes, com- 
pleted as tasteful a bouquet, as ever bloomed under the fingers 
of a fashionable florist. 

She gave it to Josephine, when she came into the parlor to 
survey her full-length figure in the tall glass. 

Oh ! how lovely she exclaimed involuntarily ; then 
recovering herself, said coldly, << They are pretty;’^ and returned 
them. 

<< They are for you,^' said Ida. 

Who sent them 

“ They were presented to me ; and as their beauty is wasted 
upon the < desert air’ of my chamber, I shall be obliged to you 
to display them.” 

Josephine would have rejected the generous offer, if there had 
been the remotest chance of another ; but it was late, and she 
could not go bouquetless. 

<< Who gave them to you ?” she asked. 

Ida paused, then replied, Mr. Dana.” 

<< He will know them ; I had rather go without any.” 

“ No danger of that ! he will not be there.” Her patience 
was nearly spent. Josephine accepted the gift with a very bad 
grace ; she was awkward and embarrassed, and what appears 
more improbable, a little ashamed. Mr. Head was attired with 
scrupulous neatness and elegance, and looked ten years younger 
than he really was. Ida presumed” to tell him so, and was 
recompensed by a bland smile. She had done her duty, per- 
haps more, and she did not repent of her self-denial; but some- 
thing of the desolate feeling of lang-syne” fell upon her, as 


ALONE. 


243 


she was left, sole tenant of the parlor and the house. "Weak 
and weary, she sighed for human society and affection. It was 
a darkened hour ^ clouded by self-doubtings, mournful memories 
and forebodings. The piano was open ; she had not touched it 
since her arrival at home; but she went to it now; only plaintive 
tunes came to her fingers ; she played fitfully, as her mood dis- 
posed her; the music was the voice of her thoughts; and she 
sang to a rambling, irregular measure — 

“ I am alone — the last light tread 

And laugh have died upon my ear; 

And I may weep unchecked — nor dread 
The scorn, tbat forces back the tear. 

I turn to Thee! oh! when the strings, 

The trustful heart has fondly thrown, 

Wound closely round its be«t-loved things— 

Are, by one stroke, asunder torn. 

And bleeding, crushed, uncared for, lie — 

When Hope’s gay smile no joy can throw. 

And the soul breathes but one wish — to die! 

To whom else can the suffering go? 

Thou — Thou dost look within, and read 
How I have sought for love, and found 
Reproach instead — how in its need 
My spirit bowed it to the ground, — 

E’en to the dust — and deemed it nought 
Bore patiently, when pained and wronged 
And smiled on sorrow, if it brought 
The priceless boon for which it longed. 

In vain! in vain ! and now I come — 

As to her nest the dove doth flee; 

Give Thou my wandering heart a home — 

And bind its shattered chords to Thee I’* 

<< My poor child ! are you then so sad 

She knew the hand upon her drooping head before he spoke ; 
and with a prayer for support, that calmed her fluttering heart, 
arose to greet him, 

“ Am I forgiven for my intrusion?” said he, leading her to a 
chair. ^^The front door was ajal, and hearing your music, I 
entered without ringing.” 

Freely pardoned ! Have you been in town long?” 

Since five o’clock this afternoon. I am on my way to the 
south with Annie. She is ordered to winter in Florida. Go 
with us — will you not? Clyirley supped with us; and Annie 
proposed this plan on hearing of your feeble health. She will 
wait until you are ready if you comply.” 


244 


ALONE. 


<< I am very grateful for her kindness ; hut I cannot avail 
myself of it/^ 

Are there any < propriety scruples T ” inquired he, smiling. 
« You will be her companion ; and the most fastidious cannot 
object to^the escort of a brother, and — an engaged man/^ 

She was fortified against even this. Her arch glance hid the 
heart-pang faithfully. << Where is she ?” she questioned. 

<< Lelia ? at her father’s house in S . Here is her coun- 

terfeit.” He unclasped a locket. 

“ It is like Carry !” said Ida ; then she scanned it long and 
earnestly. She was very beautiful ; with large, blue eyes ; and 
a cherry mouth, just parted in a smile; and shining hair, folded 
above the smooth forehead — fair enough for him I and as she 
raised her eyes to say how lovely she was, she beheld herself in 
the glass opposite — wan, hollow-eyed and sallow — and felt how 
presumptuous — how reckless in its folly, her dream had been ! 
He shut the spring, without looking at it himself, (it was delicate 
and considerate to avoid the comparison !) and making no reply 
to her praises of his betrothed ; began to speak of the bond of 
fellowship, formed between themselves, since their parting. She 
had been discouraged by her inability to talk of what was ever 
in her mind ; had distrusted the genuineness of her faith, because 
her tongue faltered in telling of the love which had redeemed 
her. He entered fully into her feelings ; and she surprised her- 
self by the freedom th^ consciousness of this afforded her. He told 
her of his difficulties and temptations and conflicts, often antici- 
pating what she would have related of her own experience. So 
well did his counsels and comfort meet the inquiries and wants 
of her spirit, that she debated within herself whether he were 
not sent by heaven — a special messenger in her hour of trial. 

Say on !” said he, encouragingly, as he caught her eye. 

<<I was about to ask if you believed in what are termed 
minute or particular Providences.” 

<< As in my existence ! even to the numbering of the hairs of 
any head. You have not been troubling your brain with quib- 
blings upon this subject, I hope ?” 

No ; but I have heard it disputed by very good people, who 
confuse me by their free agency,’ and < accountability,’ and 
< decrees.’ ” 


ALONE. 


245 


Discard theories, and eschew arguments. Let your Bible 
and your common sense he your teachers. As a machinist 
fashions the minutest cog of the smallest wheel, as carefully as 
the mighty lever, the main power, — so the Supreme Governor 
looks to the balance the tiniest atom in His universe.^^ 

Then,^’ said Ida ; “ I do not commit presumption when I 
trace my Father’s hand in every-day events ; when I lift up my 
soul in thankfulness for a pleasant, or ennobling thought, a 
visit, a gift, an act of friendship, which has made me better or 
happier — or say < Thy will be done ?’ in the petty trials, which 
annoy, rather than afflict us !” 

It is your privilege and duty. The introductory sentence 
of the Lord’s Prayer is sufficient to inculcate this truth. < Our 
Father — is not a father’s care constant ? He says moreover — 
^ we must become as little children.’ Who relies more than a 
child? ^As thy day is, so shall thy strength be;—’ no matter 
where, or how we are placed, God will give us the requisite 
strength ; and as our positions are changing every moment, does 
not this say that He will be with us every moment, and order 
the success of whatever we attempt, by the amount of strength 
He imparts ? And again, < not a sparrow falls to the ground 
without your Father.’ Nothing which God does is smallj and 
He < orders all things according to the counsel of His own will.’ 
Then nothing is insignificant, because God orders everything. 
Our actions may appear trivial ; but do they not assume a ter- 
rible importance, when we learn that even our fleeting words are 
to be the data of our judgment, at the last day ? A few good 
people doubt the doctrine of Especial Providences;’ but is it not 
better for us to believe what God says of his character, than to 
determine what character he ought to have ? If He says He is 
the God of <the hairs of our heads — ’ of ^ sparrows’ and lilies 
of the field — all we have to do, is to take His word for truth, 
and act accordingly. His attention to small things is as con- 
clusive a proof of His Divinity, as to great ones. It has been 
well said, that < man cannot comprehend the Infinitely great, 
nor the Infinitely small.’ But I weary you.” 

^‘You do not — I am interested and instructed. I am but a 
babe in leading-strings ; so weak and ignorant, it terrifies me to 

21 * 


246 


ALONE. 


ill ink of the possibility that I will be obliged to take a single 
step without holding my Father’s hand.” 

<<That is what none of us are called upon to do, Ida. will 
never leave thee, nor forsake thee.’ < Even there shall thy hand 
lead me, and Thy right hand shall hold^ie.’ We could not 
stand alone an instant, were this ^right hand’ withdrawn.” 

Charley, who strews many pearls among the rubbish he 
scatters abroad, once set me to thinking seriously — I hope, 
not unprofitably, by wondering why Christians were ever low- 
spirited,” said Ida. It seems to me that they would not be, 
‘rf their confidence in God were implicit and abiding ; but I am 
often sad — almost desponding.” 

To-night, for instance,” said Mr. Lacy, cheerfully. < This 
kind goeth not out, but by prayer ;’ and you must not be cast 
down, that you cannot, in a month, overcome a habit of years. 
Humanly speaking, you have had much to embitter your lot ; — 
but as we can, in reviewing our past lives, see many events 
which, Janus-like, approached us frowningly, now changed to 
smiles of blessing, ought we not, with this attestation of expe- 
rience to the truth of His promises, to trust Him in the dark 
ways we now tread ?” 

<< Poor Lynn!” her full eyes overflowed. << How frequently 
I am reminded of his — 

‘ I am blind ! in rough paths groping 
With outstretched hands and sightless eyes!*” 

<< Let US hope that the Everlasting arms received him,” said 
Mr. Lacy. <<I feared to speak of him to you, Ida; knowing, 
as I do, that upon a heart like yours, such a blow must have 
left indelible traces. You have not — ^you never will forget him, 
but can you not believe that this, too, was intended for your 
good ?” 

I do — although at the time, it seemed very hard that from 
my meagre list of friends, one so necessary to my happiness, 
should be stricken. I may never meet another, who will give 
mo affection so fond, yet so disinterested.” 

‘‘Disinterested! that is a term not generally applied to love 
which leads to betrothal.” 

“Mr. Lacy!” ejaculated Ida, astonished. “But no I you 
know us too well ? did Lynn never tell you — ” she stopped. 


ALONE. 247 

I jfirst heard of your engagement from a third person; 
you confirmed it, subsequently/’ 

<‘What do you mean? you are under a strange misapprehen- 
sion. I never was betrothed to Lynn ; he never thought of me 
but as a friend.” 

“ Ida I” his tone was stern. What are you saying ? Have* 
you forgotten the night you left my side for his, upon seeing his 
dejection — the long promenade, and his reproaches for what he 
deemed — wrongfully, as I am now assured — was coquetry in 
you? I was told then, what I had heard, without heeding 
before, that you were plighted lovers. So confirmed was I in 
my disbelief that I would have declared it, in defiance of the proofs 
presented to me, had I not overheard by accident a portion of 
your conversation. He said — (I remember it well !) — ‘ I have 
loved you as man never loved woman before — have believed you 
pure and high-minded. If I thought that the despicable coquetry 
you hint at, had caused you to insist upon the concealment of 
our engagement — I lost the rest. Is not this enough ? must I 
harrow your feelings by recurring to your appeal to me to save 
him from crime and death for your sake ; — or to the awful h^ur 
when you were summoned to receive his last sigh? Oh! Ida! 
Ida ! I have trusted in your truth — do not shake my faith now !” 

There was bewilderment, but not falsehood in the eyes that 
sustained his rebuking glance. I have spoken the truth. The 
sentence which misled you, was the repetition of a remark made 
to another ; — the whisper in his dying hour, a message to the 
same. To me — ^I repeat — he was a brother, devoted and true 
to the last — but nothing more.” 

His lips were ashy white; — his self-command had utterly 
deserted him. 

« I have been terrihly deceived !” he said, rising and pacing 
the floor. <<Ida!” he resumed, coming back to her side. ^‘We 
have spoken of the mysterious dealings of Providence I did 
not think my trust would be tested so soon. You have unwit- 
tingly awakened a pain, I thought was stilled forever, and jus- 
tice to you, and to myself, requires me to endure it yet awhile 
longer. We are friends — we can never be anything nearer — 
but if I were the husband, instead of the betrothed of another, 
I should feel bound to clear my honor from the aspersion my 


248 


ALONE. 


conduct has cast upon it. My actions — my language, must 
have convinced you that I loved you ; — you were ignorant of the 
mistake into which I had fallen — what interpretation have you 
put upon my course, since ? You did not misconstrue my atten- 
tion then — tell me— am I a knave — a hypocrite in your sight ?” 

* Never said she, lifting a face, a^ pale as his own. <^My 
confidence in your friendship and integrity has not swerved, and 
there lives not one who will pray for your happiness with more 
sincerity j who is more thankful for your noble renunciation of 
personal feeling to advance her welfare. We are friends! we 
will forget everything but this.^^ 

She was standing before him ; and while speaking, laid her 
hand in his. He gazed silently into the countenance, so elevated 
in its look of heroic self-devotion. 

You have chosen one far more worthy of you than I could 
ever have been ; — you will be very happy together. I hope to 
meet her some day, and love her, as all must love the beautiful 
and good. There is a consolation those friends have at parting, 
whose home is not here; — that, although we walk in different 
pathways on earth, they all lead to our abiding-place — Heaven.^^ 
AYith an uncontrollable impulse, he drew her to him, and pressed 
his lips to her brow ! He was gone 1 and the poor human heart 
bled from the slow torture to which it had been put. He had 
not dreamed of it, — had not suspected, when her steady, sweet 
tones told him of their separate pathways, that her soul was 
reaching, in intense yearnings, towards the lightsome way, 
where flowers sprang beneath his steps, and shuddering at the 
tomb-like chill of that which echoed her lonely foot-fall. He 
was gone I and the weeping eyes which sought Heaven, showed 
from whence she had derived the supernatural strength which 
had borne her through the trying interview; — and with the cry 
of unspeakable sorrow that succeeded his departure, arose a peti- 
tion for larger supplies. It was granted. She wept still; but 
not in wretchedness. Solemn, pure resolutions were growing 
up beneath the waves of grief. The destruction of this hope — 
the dearest in a woman’s heart, was the fall of a proud plant,— 
the garden’s pride — in its matured beauty. Buds and blooms 
wilt and perish upon the stalk, but from the laden seed-vessels 
are showered far and wide germs that shall rejoice many hearts 
with the sweetness and loveliness their parent garnered for one. 


ALO N E. 


249 


CHAPTER XXII. 

It was so cold and damp in the morning, that Rachel, in virtue 
of her nursely prerogatives, forbade her mistress’ rising before 
breakfast. Ida was not averse to keeping her room. She 
wished to achieve another victory over herself before meeting 
Josephine. A suspicion of her agency in Mr. Lacy’s deception 
ripened, upon reflection, into a certainty, her love of justice 
prompted her to banish. But a hundred incidents occurred to 
her memory. Especially, she recollected that Josephine had 
accosted him, directly after she had taken Lynn’s arm in the 
Fair-room, that she was still with him at the close of the even- 
ing, and that he had looked sorrowfully — reproachfully at her. 
She had no just conception of the girl’s total destitution of prin- 
ciple, nor of her envy of herself ; but she knew her to be weak, 
vain and spiteful ; and against her will, she had to credit a con- 
clusion, she judged uncharitable. She did not desire to ascer- 
tain its truth; it could make no difierence at this late date. 
Another perplexity assailed her -should she tell J osephine of 
the visit she had had ? Should she hear of it from some other 
source, or by a direct inquiry of herself, whether she had spent 
the evening alone — which conjectures might not be formed as to 
the motive of her silence ? She was deliberating thus, when the 
door flew back, and Josephine walked in. Ida, nervously excit- 
able, started from her pillow, and clasped her hands in speech- 
loss alarm at the suddenness and disorder of her appearance. 
She was frightfully pallid, and her eyes were inflamed with 
weeping and rage. 

Locking the door, she advanced to the foot of the bed, and 
grasped the post tightly, as if to brace herself for some desperate 
act. Ida could not stir, and the two regarded each other for a 
moment without a word, Josephine was torn by some fearful 
conflict : Ida had never seen her eyes dimmed by a tear ; and 
when the struggle for language ended in a tempestuous burst of 
weeping, the thought flashed over her, that she was bereft of 
reason. 


250 


ALONE. 


Josephine ! what has happened she could scarcely utter, 
Josephine dashed off the thick-coming drops. 

Happened ! yes ! it will not matter to you, who can leave 
this abominable place in two years — or to-morrow, if you choose 
to have your own way. I am to stay, and be pushed about, and 
lectured and ruled by a hideous vixen ! I could kill her, and 
him too 

Are you raving ? Who is it 

His wife ! the dotard ! the foolish old greybeard V* 

Josephine ! you cannot mean your father V* 

<< I do mean him ; and he is a doting fool, to be playing the 
sighing lover at his age — and to whom ? A baby -faced chit, just 
out of her teens ! a spoiled doll of a thing whose prattle and 
tricks have addled his brains — ^if he ever had any. I won’t stay 
here ! I will beg my bread in the street first !” 

But he is not married yet; you may be mistaken. How 
did your hear it ?” 

From himself, on our way to that detestable ball. I wish 
he, and she, and it, were at the bottom of the Dead Sea ! He 
commenced ‘ Josey, my dear !’ — Oh, the deceitful villain !” 

Josephine !” said Ida, shuddering. 

He is ! and I will say it ! < Josey ’ — said he, simpering and 

giggling like a shame-faced school-boy < Can you guess why 

I consented to your having that dress 

Because I liked it — I suppose, sir.” 

<< ^ No, my dear; — I had my reasons for wishing you to lool 
well to-night. I expect to meet a friend at the ball, to whom I 
shall introduce you.’ 

Who^is it, sir ? may I ask ?” said I. 

He giggled and winked — oh ! so disgustingly ! ‘ Did you 

imagine that I was idle all the time I was in the country ? You 
were flirting at the Springs, and I concluded to try my hand. 
You have too much care upon you, for so young a person ; what 
do you say to my engaging a ‘ help ?’ 

<< A housekeeper would be a convenience ;” answered I. 

« i A ball is a proper place to hunt up housekeepers !’ said he, 
blazing out. <No airs, miss ! you understand me ! I am to be 
married in a fortnight, and you may as well take it quietly — 
or it will be worse for you ’ 


ALONE. 


251 


Tt is too late for him to brow-beat me, and so T said ; and 
that I would worry his and her life out, as surely as she crossed 
this threshold — that he had made himself the laughing-stock 
of the city — he had been taken in by a designing creature who 
wanted his money — for he had lost his good looks and his 
senses too, it appeared — ” 

<< < If you say another word,^ said he, griping my arm — there! 
you see the bruise ! < I will put you out of the carriage, and 

you may die before I will give you a cent to save you from star- 
vation. You will see this lady to-night, and if you do not treat 
her with becoming politeness, you don’t go home with me, nor 
after me, either 1’ 

You never saw such a tiger ! When we were there, I 
scowled at every dried-up old maid, who looked as if she were 
husband-hunting. I had picked out one, with a skinny neck 
and corkscrew curls, when up steps our youthful lover, with a 
lady hanging on his arm; — he, all honey and smiles — she, cool 
and bold. ^ Miss Copeland — let me make you acquainted with 
my daughter 1’ I wanted to strike her in the face, but his eye was 
too threatening ; — so I choked myself with a pretty speech, and 
she bowed condescendingly. I gave her one look, though, when 
he did not see — and she glared back at me. I’ll warrant there’ll 
be no love lost 1” 

^^But what is she like? She may be an agreeable com- 
panion,” said Ida. 

<< Ida Ross I I didn’t come to you for canting consolation ! I 
was too full to keep my fury to myself — and I hate her rather more 
than I do you. This is why I have told you about the wretch. 

< Companion I’ I’ll be company for her ! She had better be 
burned alive, than come here. She will wish she had been, or 
my name is not Read I” 

But you can escape by marriage suggested Ida, who per- 
ceived that the girl was suffering, and pitied her, while she trem- 
bled at her frenzy. 

<< Say that again, and I will murder you 1” retorted Josephine, 
in the white heat of concentrated passion. You will make me 
remember that our old scores are not quite settled yet.” 

<< I have no scores against you said Ida, firmly. The 
past cannot return — why refer to it ?” 


252 


ALONE. 


Josephine regarded her fixedly. You are wise she said, 
presently, breaking into a contemptuous laugh. << To another, 
you would preach repentance — you know I never repent and 
with this strange speech, she quitted her. 

Now that he had broken the matter to his daughter, the bride- 
groom used the utmost celerity in the despatch of preliminaries. 
The house was filled with workmen, upholsterers and cooks, 
whose din destroyed the quiet of Ida’s chamber, the only one left 
unaltered. Josephine adhered to her resolution not to move a 
finger in the preparations for the detested intruder’s reception. 
She would not go to the marriage, which took place at the bride’s 
father’s, in the country. Mr. Read did not insist; he was 
secretly pleased to be free for this evening — conscious that he 
could acquit himself more creditably, if her eyes were not upon 
him. The wedding party was to be at his house, the next night 
but one. The supper was in the hands of the profession ; Mr. 
Read being too prudent to risk the probability of a grievous 
mortification, by entrusting the most trifling arrangement to his 
filial mar-plot. 

It was dark when the bridal party arrived. The girls were 
dressed, and in the drawing-room. Ida’s picture of the bride, 
drawn from Josephine’s representment, was of an overdressed, 
forward country girl, who had wheedled and flattered a man of 
treble her age, into an offer of his hand and fortune; and she 
was puzzled by the elaborate toilette of the step-daughter. If her 
aim was to outshine the creature she had described, she had cer- 
tainly over-estimated the labor its accomplishment required. She 
swept into the apartment with a hauteur, that made her diminu- 
tive form appear two inches taller; her jetty hair, almost an 
incumbrance from its length and profusion, dressed partly in 
ringlets, partly in braids — instead of, as she usually wore it at 
parties, and as her father liked to see it— in natural curls float- 
ing upon her shoulders. This style gave her a juvenile air, 
pleasing, heretofore — discarded by the full-fledged woman she 
acted to-night. Her robe was of white satin ; the falling shoul- 
ders and proud swell of the throat’ exhibited to fine advantage 
by the low bodice. Ida was dressed in a silver-grey silk, with a 
berthe of rich black lace; the throat-latch and cuffs of black 
velvet and jet, making her extreme paleness more striking. Her 


ALONE. 


253 


6gure and expression of rep(yse had its opposite in the impersona- 
tion of splendid inquietude^ which trod the rooms impatiently, 
rustling and gleaming in the hlaze of the chandeliers. 

They have come !” said Ida, with a pitying accent, she could 
not repress, as Josphine turned deadly pale at the sound of 
wheels. We must meet them,^’ and she took her hand. Hers 
was fiercely thrown off. Repellant, defiant, she disdained sup^ 
port. The bride’s brother and bridemaids had accompanied 
her; but Ida scarcely remarked their muffled-up figures, as 
‘^Miss Murray — ” <<Miss Arnold” — were named. Her eyes 
and thoughts were for the new Mrs. Head. Josephine’s aver- 
sion had hood-winked her. Ida subscribed to her ^^cool and 
bold,” as the solitary clause of the description that had the 
slightest resemblance to the reality; and “bold” was too coarse 
an epithet for the polished indifference of a woman of the world. 
She was not more than three-and-twenty, handsome, even in her 
travelling apparel — not “baby-faced” — and went through the 
introductions with a nonchalant grace ; touching Josephine’s 
cheek with her lips ; extending to Ida, the tips of her fingers, — 
and bestowing a fashionable nod upon the group of servants in 
the hall ; then, escorted by her husband, led the way, up-stairs. 
Josephine’s face was balefully dark, as she resumed her walk. 
It was a part of her retribution, although she would not see it, — 
that as she had slighted, and thrust aside others, whose rights 
werfe equal with hers, — she was to take a secondary place where 
she had ruled so long. 

The company were assembled, before the happy pair made 
their entry. Charley was with Ida — he was seldom far ofi^ — 
“November and June!” exclaimed he, aside. “Its enough to 
cause a man to forswear your sex, to see such a being a voluntary 
victim upon the altar of mammon.” 

Ida caught his arm; and seeing that she was fainting, he 
seized a bottle of cologne-water from the mantel, and dashed a 
handful into her face, so quickly and dexterously, that his nearest 
neighbors did not understand the movement. The powerful per- 
fume recalled her scattering senses. Charley put her in the 
corner of a sofa; and placed himself in front of her, to screen 
her from observation, until her agit-ation should subside. It was 
quickly over; and only remarking — “You cannot get through 

22 


254 


ALONE. 


the crowd just yet — sit still he ••continued fanning her, -and 
chatting, as if her illness were the most natural thing imagina- 
ble, — a matter of no moment. His eyes were as busy as his 
tongue; and in their apparently aimless rovings, no group 
escaped scrutiny. He Avas fairly at fault; and opposed as the 
conclusion was to the premises he had assumed, was compelled 
to refer her attack to physical causes. Once, he fancied he saw 
an imploring agony in her eye, which entreated for help or com- 
fort ; but while he looked, it disappeared, leaving a serenity that 
rebuked his suspicions. 

« Who is this Mr. Head is convoying this way V* he inquired. 

1 ought to know him.’^ 

He is a stranger to me,’^ replied Ida. 

<< Miss Ross, Mr. Copeland fears you will not recognise him, 
without a second introduction,'^ said the host. 

And Mr. Copeland's fears were not groundless," said that 
gentleman, when his brother-in-law was out of hearing. A 
less modest individual than myself might be dubious of the 
durability of an impression, made under such circumstances, as 
our briefest of brief interviews, — when I could have been, at 
best, but a fourth-rate attraction. Mr. Dana — I believe ! I need 
not excuse myself for not observing you before. This is a bril- 
liant assembly. Miss Ross. I have been rating my excellent 
brother-in-law" — there was the least curl of scorn upon his 
handsome mouth as he pronounced these words — for deserting 
this galaxy of beauty to seek a mate in our gloomier regions." 

“Isolated stars often dispense more light than the millions 
composing the galaxy," answered Ida. 

“ I have thought the same since I reached this corner," he 
returned, gallantly. “ I parted with a friend of yours, yester- 
day, who would not have granted me time to say a word for 
myself, if I had engaged to deliver a quarter of the messages 
he charged me with." 

“ Ah ! who was so unreasonable ?" 

“ Mr. G-ermaine," he replied, smiling, as the blood rose to her 
cheek. “ He enacted Telemachus last summer, with a difference 
in the object of his search." 

“ But with a like termination," said Charley, who seemed to 
understand the allusion. 


ALONE. 


255 


Yes — as it proved; but he did not know it at that time. He 
called by to see me on his way home. He was in a deplorable 
state of mind ; but I am happy to say that the consolations of 
friendship were not unavailing. I have succeeded in inocula 
ting him with hopes of more fortunate chances in future. Yes- 
terday, he was ready to swear with Barnadine, that he < would 
not die that day for any man^s persuasion.^ ” 

^<Had he been long absent from his own neighborhood?’' 
asked Ida. “Did he speak of Dr. Carleton’s family ?” 

“ Frequently. They are in their usual health, I believe, 
although he was not explicit upon this point; all ideas con- 
nected with Poplar-grove having a marked proclivity backward. 
< Last summer’ was the starting-point and terminus of his dis- 
course to me. I am going to say something rude. Miss Boss. 
Ls the lady by the pier-table your cousin-german ?” 

“ What if she were my sister?” 

“ I should say, with all frankness, that I could not detect the 
family likeness. As she is not related by consanguinity or 
affinity, we will hope, benevolently, that her attendant is not 
constituted like my sister, who faints at passing a freshly- 
painted house; and furthermore award her praise for her libe- 
rality. You have heard of the clay that lived with roses — do 
you think that gentleman would appreciate the apologue ?” 

Ida and Charley laughed, although the remark might have 
been considered ill-natured. The pure red and white of the 
lady’s face remained intact, but the gentleman’s coat-sleeve had 
received a bountiful donation of flour or chalk from the snowy 
arm resting upon it. 

“ Is not that your friend. Miss Read ?” pursued Mr. Copeland. 
“A pretty casket, but how frail to enshrine the spirit that 
speaks in those orbs ! There is stirring music there, or I am 
mistaken. Hear me. Miss Ross, before you annihilate me by a- 
second look of reproof. We simple yeomen do not get away 
from our farms often ; and not above once in a lifetime happen 
upon such a godsend as this is, for adding to our slender stock 
of information. I am a boy of an inquiring mind, and my venera- 
ble and respected father’s parting injunction was to keep my eyes 
and ears open. You believe every word I am saying — I see it 
in your countenance. You do not fear to accept my arm for a 
promenade ? Mr. Dana — au revoir.” 


256 


ALONE. 


I am afraid you have chosen an indifferent cicerone/^ said 

Ida. 

How unjust ! I repel the insinuation, and to prove my inno- 
cence, will not ask a question concerning any one but yourself.^' 

<< I will answer those upon any other subject more readily.” 

I had not expected to find you one who would shirk inquiry 
into her character and actions. Luckily I am not deputed to 
institute it. You do not flirt, I understand, Miss Ross 

Never Why the question ?” 

It is the principal amusement here, I observe; and that 
reminded me of my curiosity to behold you, when I heard that 
you were, in this respect, an anomaly in your sex.” 

Is your j udgment so unsparing ?” said Ida. ^ < I know many, 
whose sentiments and practices coincide with mine ; but before 
we dispute, let us have a clear sense of each other^s meaning. 
What is your definition of flirting ?” 

With men, it signifies paying attentions that warrant the 
expectation of courtship : — a formal declaration, or expressions 
which are tantamount to it, when we have no inclination or 
intention to fulfil an engagement of marriage. The man who 
does this, incurs the opprobrium of the community, unless the 
lady is as great an adept in the art as himself. Then, it is a 
harmless sham fight ; no mischief done, and nobody to blame. 
On the other side, the hapless wight, who is worsted by a 
coquette, has to bear ridicule, in addition to his bruises. She 
may beckon her victim on by smiles and blushes and half-uttered 
fondness, actually give him the pledges, and admit him to the 
privileges of an accepted lover; and then laugh in the face of 
the fond fool, whose peace she has wilfully destroyed ; — and this 
sensible, charitable world claps its hands, and shouts < bravo ! 
for a clever woman !’ ” 

No woman will acknowledge the truthfulness of this sketch,” 
rejoined Ida. << I have seen unthinking girls act thus ; but we 
are cognizant of the crime — not its punishment, which is inevita- 
ble and severe.” 

<< They settle down generally, like their neighbors, to a home 
and a husband,” said Mr. Copeland. 

This is their outward lot ; who knows their inner life ?” 

<< The inner life of a woman ! who, indeed ! what a tissue of 




ALONE, 


257 


contradictions it must be ! Follow my eye, Miss Ross. Do you 
see that Peri with cerulean eyes, who is bowing to that gentle- 
man’s petition for ^ the pleasure of her hand?’ Again, that 
blanching cheek, as she murmured ^ yes.’ ” 

“ It is Lelia Arnold — my sister’s bridesmaid. She is the love- 
liest and gayest girl in the room ; you would say that she could 
not e^ist, but in this hot-house of flattery and pleasure. Last 
spring she went on a visit to a sick friend, and for four months 
we lost sight of her. She resides about six miles from us ; and 
we were notified of her return by her driving over, one day, 
attended by a handsome fellow, brother to the < dear Annie ’ 
with whom she had been staying. The truth was out ! • The 
parade the family made of her disinterestedness and attachment 
to the invalid deceived my sister, but not me. She aims at uni- 
versal fascination ; this Lacy has prepossessing manners and 
appearance, talent, — and it may be, money.* Her four months’ 
nursing was a judicious outlay. Helen — Mrs. Read, declares 
there is no engagement; but I retain my opinion. She is, 
to-night, la reine du hal; on Sunday, she will kneel, in Church, 
the most angelic vision that ever was vouchsafed to a Catholic’s 
prayer’s ; relate a tale of woe, and the eyes now dancing in mirth, 
will be dewy with tears ; if you are worth winning, she is the 
tender, love-beseeching girl. I am the only one who quarrels 
with her. The first time, I was ready to blow my brains out, for 
my brutality. I think now I shall wait for a more convenient 
season. She is 

* K perfect woman, nobly planned, 

To warn, to comfort, to command/ 

— minus a heart !” 

<< Are you well advised of this ? Her voice was very low. 

I wish I were as sure of a diadem ! and if I had it, I will 
not be my own security, that she could not coax it fromvipe, in 
five minutes after it came into my possession. Do not imagine 
this a digression from the subject. I could tell you of an exile 
from his native land, driven thence by her falsehood ; of one, 
with high intellect and gigantic energies, paralyzed by his fall 
from the dizzy height, to which her promises had raised him ; — 
and the snow, this winter night, enwraps another pierced heart, 
as cold as that which moves her fleecy drapery. What do you 

22 * 


258 


ALONE. 


say now, Miss Ross ? Does the world heap no honors, lavish no 
applause iipoa her 

“ I do not know how to believe you I” said Ida, putting her 
hand confusedly to her forehead. 

<< It is no private scandal; — I do not retail such, — the facts 
are notorious. Yet ask Helen — ask any woman who < knows 
society,’ and she will certify to the frequency of these Recur- 
rences — ‘ crimes ’ you called them — and the impunity with 
which they are committed.” 

“ It is a crime !” said Ida, wildly; — an atrocious crime !” 

My dear Miss Ross! one would think you were reprobating 
a higliAvay murderer I Recover yourself — the perpetrators are 
your acquaintances and friends. Another set, Helen 1 does Mr, 
Read take the floor, too he said to his sister, with the mock- 
ing smile Ida had noticed once before. 

“ I do not knov^” she replied, carelessly. He can take 
care of himself — ” 

<< Having nearly arrived at years of discretion ;” he concluded 
the sentence. 

Ida did not like the unnecessary taunt, nor the smile with * 
which he turned to her. 

“ Your naive abhorrence of flirtation, emboldens me to ask 
another question. Has disinterested affection an abode upon 
earth 

“ Are you infidel there also said Ida, lightly. 

“You evade. I ask no reply but that. You are a believer ; 
and while I was telling my story, your mind was running 
through the details of conduct, diametrically opposed to our fair 
friend’s yonder ” 

It was a random shot ; but that it told, he was assured by 
the nervous tremor of her arm; and kindly violating his promise 
not to be inquisitive about his fellow-guests, returned to his jest- 
ing strain. 

It was well that he did. She was fearfully tried. At Miss 
Arnold’s entrance, she had known the original of “ Delia’s” 
miniature; but cowering at the unexpected ordeal she must 
undergo, while she was beneath the same roof with herself, took 
refuge in the hope that she was deceived by an accidental resem- 
blance. Mr. Copeland had torn down this frail shelter, and 


ALONE. 


259 


added a new sorrow to the burden that was crushing her. Why 
was she made to hear this recital? Was there a “ special Pro- 
vidence” in his being Mr. Germaine’s friend, and singling her 
out among a hundred strangers? What directed his mind into 
the channel it took ? what pointed his finger to Lelia Arnold, 
and thereby probed her heart to its core ? She had taught her- 
self to think of, and pray for his wife — the good and beautiful,” 
but not for this heartless coquette — not for her ! oh ! my 
Father ! I could have borne anything but this !” she cried, in 
bitterness of spirit. It was an experience which Smites many 
with sore amazement — that it is easier to learn resignation for 
ouselves, than for those we love. She had begun her uninviting 
journey meekly ; but rebelled that a cloud lowered over him. 

Night, morning passed — the afternoon was upon the wane, 
ere she gained fortitude of body and spirit, for a re-encounter 
with the formidable stranger. A prop to her resolution was 
applied by Rachel, who thought them young ladies must be 
having a mighty dull time. Mrs. Read nor Miss Josephine 
didn’t leave their rooms from breakfast to dinner; and looks 
like they meaned to stay thar, till plump night; and Miss 
Murray and Miss Arnold are wandering about, like lost sheep. 
I wish you was well enough to sit with them awhile. Miss Ida.’^ 

Matters were much as she had represented. Miss Arnold 
was watching the passers-by, with an ennuyee air, and Miss 
Murray lounging in an easy chair, with a book. The latter 
arose with a cordial air. 

am glad you are able to be with us again. You seem 
feeble, and we were uneasy lest fatigue might have made you 
sick.” 

Miss Arnold bowed distantly, and held herself aloof, during 
the dialogue that ensued. Ida gathered courage as she wit- 
nessed her uninterested attitude, which could hardly have been 
feigned. She had not recognised her ; or as she refiected, in 
her humility, was more probable, had never heard of her. The 
thought was unflattering, but there was relief in it. Miss 
Murray was affable and unaffected ; her features only redeemed 
from plainness by their agreeable expression. They talked of 
the distinctive traits of town and country life. She had never 
resided in the city,” Miss Murray said, “ but had attended Mr. 


260 


ALONE. 


Purcell’s school one session.” Ida inquired when ?” and 
heard that they were there together, but in different classes. 

I do not remember seeing you,” said she. 

<<But I knew your 'face, yesterday afternoon;” was Miss 
Murray's reply. 

Carry Carleton was your desk-mate, and Anna Talbot sat 
before you.” 

They were at no loss for topics now ; and << Alice” and ^^Ida” 
superseded the formal Miss.” 

I read of Carry’s marriage in the papers, but the name of 
her coro spoao has slipped my memory ;” said Miss Murray. 

<<Dr. Dana, — he is an excellent young man; handsome, 
amiable, and has a high reputation as an intelligent man, and 
skilful physician.” 

^‘Dana ! was there a gentleman of that name here last night?” 
asked Alice. 

Yes — his brother.” 

“ He was introduced to me ;” — and she laughed. He is 
an original. I was highly entertained by his humorous say- 
ings.” 

She was interested in Ida’s graphic limning of his character. 

<< He is an intimate friend of yours, then ?” 

<< One of the best I have ; — the kindest of brothers.” 

I knew he was as good as funny, from his face. You saw 
him, Lelia?” 

<< Whom ?” asked she, without moving. 

Mr. Dana, the humorous gentleman, I talked to so long, by 
the piano.” 

^^I saw him, but heard no humor. I thought him very 
stupid.” 

Miss Murray reddened. Why, Lelia ! but you are not a 
fair judge. If he had talked to you, you would not say so.” 

He < bored’ me for what seemed an eternity, but which, Mr. 
Copeland, who released me, said was only ten minutes,” said 
she, carelessly. 

Miss Murray was content she should be silent, after this mal- 
apropos observation. Ida said one must be well acquainted 
with him to appreciate him.” Miss Arnold measured her from 
head to foot, and saying coldly, I rarely err in a first opinion;” 
turned her blue eyes to the window again. 


ALONE. 


26 i 

The others were forgetting her in the deepening stream of 
chat, when she came to the fire-place. << I am chilly she 
said, and throwing one of the sofa-pillows at Aliceas feet, seated 
herself, and leaned her elbow upon her friend’s lap. She was 
bewitchingly lovely — Ida owned; and so may have thought 
Richard Copeland, who haji^ened to enter, just as she was 
settled. 

Rehearsing tableaux, young ladies !” said he. << Miss Ross 
— Miss Alice — good evening. You play humility, I perceive. 
Miss Lelia.” 

She did not offer to rise. << Do not I become the character 
she inquired. 

The character becomes you, at any rate. How have you 
wiled away the day. Miss Alice 

Her sunshiny face made him as frank as herself, when he 
addressed her. 

‘‘Oh!” said she. “In sleeping, reading and eating, I con- 
trived to dispose of all but the past hour or two, of which Miss 
Ross has kindly relieved me.” 

“ I can testify to her adroitness in this particular,” he replied. 
She did a little time-lifting for me last evening. Have you 
finished your official returns of ‘ killed, wounded and missing,' 
Miss Ross ?” 

“ I suspect my bulletins would comprise most of the latter,” 
said Ida. 

“ And mine 1” echoed Alice. 

“There is one exception, at least,” he returned, bowing. 
“ Decide between yourselves to whom the captive belongs.” 

“ May I be umpire ?” asked Miss Arnold, her cheeks dimpling 
mischievously. 

“ When I was a boy. Miss Delia, I read in an old spelling- 
book, of two cats, who came to the scratch over a peice of cheese, 
and agreed to refer its division to the monkey’s arbitration. You 
have read it too, and recollect the catastrophe.” 

He appeared to take pleasure in being as rude to her as the 
letter of politeness allowed ; and she bore it patiently, without 
relaxing her efforts to please and attract. 

“ Where are Helen and Miss Read ?” he asked of Alice. “Do 
all the duties of hospitality devolve upon Miss Ross 


262 


ALONE. 


They are resting, I suppose, to be blooming at the party 
to-night,^^ replied she. 

Your roses, then, are not so precious. Is this so?^^ 

(( Say instead, that they are perpetual, said Ida. 

Alice blushed and laughed. 

Are we to be favored with your company, Miss Eoss 
inquired Mr. Copeland. 

<<No, I do not keep late hours until my health is confirmed.” 

What a pity !” exclaimed Alice. Do go I I shall feel so 
strange, so lonely !” 

<<Mr. Copeland will prevent that; and I make over to you 
my interest in my friend, Mr. Dana, for one evening.” 

<<Are you in the market for the first bidder?” said Miss 
Arnold, with pretty archness, to the former gentleman. 

If Miss Eoss pleases. I intended to ask permission to 
remain in my present quarters until the hour at which we ultra- 
fashionables go to routs ; but if she banishes me sooner, I am 
proud to do her bidding, hard as it is.” 

The lamps were lighted ; and Mrs. Eead conferred the further 
illumination of her presence. 

Whereas your liege-lord, my lady ?” asked her brother; and 
she replied, as she did, whenever she could, to inquiries con- 
cerning him — “Indeed, I do not know,” and sank indolently 
upon a divan. The large, slumberous eyes did not brighten at 
his step in the hall ; and when she drew her dress aside to make 
room for him, it was with more thought for the costly fabric, 
than desire to have him near. Josephine came in, as the bell 
sounded for supper. It was a cheerful meal, in spite of her 
haughty silence, and Ida’s inward conflicts. Alice Murray’s 
even spirits had an equalising effect upon the varied tempera- 
ments around her ; Miss Arnold was witty and charming. Ida 
could not deny her eyes the luxury of watching her animated 
countenance. They feasted upon its beauty, until every thought 
was merged in admiration; and this, while, Mr. Copeland’s 
sallies were exclusively for herself. Mrs. Eead aroused from 
her proud languor, and manifested a keen relish for the ridi- 
culous, and satirical powers, not inferior to her brother’s. There 
was a veiled acrimony in their manner to each other, which 
impressed Ida with the belief of some unsettled feud, never lost 


ALONE. 


2G3 


sight of by either; and which she could not reconcile with 
Alice’s assertion, that he was Mrs. Read’s best-beloved brother. 
Their personal resemblance was marked ; but gay and caustic 
as he was, there were scintillations of feeling in his dark eyes, 
which has burnt out, or were smothered in hers. And how 
else could it be ?” she said to herself, as she looked at her dig- 
nified guardian, transformed for the nonce, into the uxorious 
husband ; and marvelled, for the thousandth time — What 
made her marry him ?” 

They were incredulous when Hr. Read said it was time to 
dress for Mrs. Talbot’s. 

<< You go with us, Richard ?” said his sister. 

I will meet you there; I must go to my hotel awhile first 

There could be no reason for this, yet Ida thought Miss 
Arnold’s brow clouded. 

Your hair was prettily arranged last night, Ida,” said Alice. 
<< Will you give me a few hints as to my coiffure 

<< With pleasure. I was about to ask if I could assist you in 
any way ?” 

So, instead of going off to her sanctum,” she busied herself 
in the dressing-room. Alice laughed and talked incessantly; 
Miss Arnold was grave and mute, except when her maid paused 
for directions. She objected, in the mildest of tones, that there 
was not light enough upon her table, and thanked dear, obliging 
Alice,” who sent a candle from hers, without fearing she could 
not spare it. 

I never looked so well in all my life !” said Alice, clasping 
her hands in pretended rapture. “ I am all impatience to try 
the effect of my beauty. You have won me one admirer, Ida 
— myself.” 

“ Add me to the number,” said Miss Arnold, and gliding up, 
she kissed the rosy cheek. 

« 0 Lelia ! my darling !” screamed Alice. My darling ! 
you are an angel! Ida ! is she not lovely?” 

Very 1” said Ida, and she felt it. Alice said an affectionate 
— the rest a polite farewell; — they drove off; — and she went 
very quietly to her chamber — quietly — though her hand was 
pressed hard upofl her heart; and her throat ached, as if iron 
fingers were tightened around it; — and while they were dancing. 


264 


A T. O N E . 


slie was kneeling before that precious Bible, forgetting sorrow 
and self in its sublime teachings ; — hours before their return, 
she slept, peacefully, happily — such sleep as even in this life 
<< He giveth His beloved/^ 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

Sunday was rainy, and Ida was deprived of the opportunity 
of judging whether Miss Arnold's church behaviour was as Mr. 
Copeland had portrayed it. But she was to learn how just to 
life another part of his description was. 

The morning, yawned through in the other apartments, passed 
swiftly in hers, in reading, study, and blessed communion with 
her Heavenly Friend. 

A low tap was heard at the door, and her come in," an- 
swered by Miss Arnold. 

<< Pray, keep your seat," said she, closing the door with a 
shiver, as the cold draught from the passage blew over her ; << I 
have ransacked the parlor book-case in vain for Sabbath reading, 
and Alice said you could probably supply me." 

<< My little library is at your service," said Ida, parting the 
curtains before a handsome set of shelves. 

<^You have quite an extensive collection;" remarked Miss 
Arnold, patronisingly. She did not ask her to help her in the 
selection, and Ida returned to her chair. Miss Arnold pulled out 
one and another slowly, so as to consume as mucn time as pos- 
sible in the occupation. Ida glanced up from time to time, to 
see what choice she made. A modest volume, presented by Mr. 
Lacy, stood near the centre of the top shelf ; and she looked up 
once as Miss Arnold was in the act of taking it down. She 
watched her with suspended breath. She read the title and 
title-page, and shutting it, raised her arm to replace it; but a 
look of recollection flitted over her brow, and she re-opened it — 
at the fly-leaf. Ida dropped her eyes instantly to the page 
before her, yet she saw as plainly as with h^ bodily organs of 
vision, that after reading what was writ..en there, — ‘^Miss Ida 


ALONE. 


£05 


Ross, with the regards of M. L.,^^ a gaze of keen inquisition rested 
upon herself, that the inscription was thoughtfully examined, 
— then the subject matter of the book, which was aftei wards 
restored to its place, and with another, selected at hazard, her 
visitor moved gracefully towards her. You have been so kind 
to me — to us — during our stay here, that I am encouraged to 
beg an additional favor.^^ 

Her silvery voice had a new tone, and it was as if a malicious 
spirit repeated to Ida, — <<If you are worth winning, she is 
the tender, love-beseeching girl.^^ Hitherto, her conduct had 
afforded decisive evidence that she was not worth the trouble. 
She drove the whisperer away and answered politely, 

<< I shall be happy to oblige you.^' 

“ Then may I stay with you awhile ? This is such a dear, 
home-like nook, and it is so dreary out of doors, and not much 
better down stairs, for Alice is drowsy, and Helen invisible.^^ 

Ida would have acceded to almost any other proposition mere 
readily, but she submitted with forced complaisance. 

Go on with your reading. I shall retire if I interrupt you 
continued Miss Arnold. 

I have been reading all the morning said Ida, seeing that 
the other’s book was untouched. 

<< And won’t my talking annoy you ?” cried Miss Arnold with 
childish pleasure. << I have so longed to know you better — to 
get nearer to you I Bear with me while I say it j you are so — 
not exactly stern to me — but so distant ! That it was not your 
nature, I discovered from your demeanor to Alice. .1 could not 
but love you for your goodness to her; and — child that I am — I 
would have entreated you to care for me a little in return — but 
you froze the words upon my lips. I have cried over it after I 
went to bed at night. Will you not tell me truly why you dis- 
like me ?” 

The violet eyes were sparkling through tears. 

I was not aware that I was so frightful,” replied Ida, 
smiling. << My coldness was imaginary, or unintentional on my 
part. Miss Arnold.” 

There!” said the beauty reproachfully; <^it was < Alice’ 
before you had known her a day.” 

« Because we were old schoolmates.” 

23 


266 


ALONE. 


<< Strangers, nevertheless. Come, Ida — be my friend — will 
you not T’ 

Could a false flirt copy Carry^s look and tone so faithfully ? 
and she kneeled upon the rug, as she had done on that November 
night, when she said, “Love me, IdaP^ She could not resist 
the temptation to lay her lips against the snowy forehead, 
beneath which those matchless eyes beamed with love and grati- 
tude. She would have recoiled as that satiric whisper again 
hissed through her heart ; but the soft arms were around her — 
the beautiful head upon her shoulder. 

“I am not the butterfly I seem, Ida; nor is the ephemera 
gaiety, in which you see me floating, my proper sphere. I have 
not your unwavering principle — ^your independence; I cannot 
of myself say to the world, — hate your vain pageantry, and 
pine for a nobler life P Often, often I feel when the din of 
pleasure is loudest, that I am bound to a wheel whose revolu- 
tions I cannot control. Show me how to be happy.'' 

“There is but one happiness which cannot die," said Ida, 
with an effort. “You do not require that I should point you 
to that !" 

Her look of sorrowful deprecation was touching. “ I know 
what you mean," she replied, subduedly. “ You would imitate, 
that professing as I do, to be trying to lead a Christian's life, I 
ought to be as familiar with the path as yourself ; but I am a 
child — too much the toy of impulse and fancy. I have been a 
pet from my infancy; have leaned upon the judgment — abided 
by the decision of those I love ; and you cannot conceive of tho 
difficulty I have in acting for myself, and in opposition to their 
wishes." 

This was plausible. Ida wished from her inmost soul, that 
she had never heard Richard Copeland's story, which, after all, 
might have been coloured, if not sketched by prejudice, or 
revenge for some slight to himself. She would have taken this 
young girl, his betrothed, to her bosom, and soothed her fears, 
and stimulated her failing resolves. But the conviction of her 
heartlessness was too strong upon her ; and her upright nature 
forbade the assumption of an appearance of confidence she did 
not feel. She spoke, indeed, as freely as she could of the lovo 
which pities and forgives our infirmities and backslidings ; but 


ALONE. 


267 


Lelia shook her head dejectedly. She had not reached her 
case. I thank you, though, and love you!’' She drew her 
cheek down to her lips. << Have you had much sorrow 

“ Not more than falls to the lot of many, more deserving of 
exemption. — Why 

^^Your serenity is so remarkable; you seem never to have 
suffered." 

<<The ocean is calm sometimes," said Ida, unconsciously. 

That is not your emblem," rejoined Lelia. << It is mine; 
ruflOied by every breath — dark in storms — ^flashing and laughing 
in sunshine — always changing, yet always the same — and, ah ! 
who believes that there are treasures under the waters which are 
worth the seeking?" 

The ocean is constant in nothing except change," said Ida. 

« That is the surface !" she spoke exultingly — 

‘‘The water is calm and still below; 

For the winds and waves are absent there, — 

And the sands are bright as the stars that glow 
In the motionless fields of upper air.” 

« Those are fine lines !" said Ida. They were recited with a 
purity of tone and emphasis that lent them an additional charm. 

They are Percival's," was the reply. I love poetry, if I 
have not, like one of my friends, received the poetic afflatus. 
Ah ! Improvisatrice ! did you think me ignorant of your glorious 
gift ?" 

<<You honour my petty talent by a higher name than it 
aspires to earn. Your informant was given to exaggeration." 

You do not ask who it was 1" cried Lelia, peeping into her 
face. Ah ! that blush ! you surmise. Now my demure dar- 
ling, how will you excuse yourself for not having breathed his 
name in my hearing, when you knew how deep my interest is in 
all relating to him or his connections?" 

This query was ably turned; but Ida's habitual self-control 
saved her from the pitfall. She would know and confess 
nothing. 

And you dare look in my eyes and deny one of your best 
friends ?" said Lelia. 

« I deny no one. The merest acquaintance may have imparted 
this information." 


268 


ALONE 


was not a casual acquaintance. Shall I name him?^' 

« If you choose/^ said Ida, with quickened pulsation. 

Then it was Mr. — look at me ! — Mr. Germaine I” 

The blood flowed regularly again. Miss Arnold^s rwse, if 
such was intended, failed signally 3 and Ida shortly had cause to 
congratulate herself upon the equanimity she had maintained 
through the interview. 

Lelia’s friendliness continued without abatement ; and her 
predilection for her society was openly manifested. She invited 
her to walk on Monday afternoon, and was inconsolable for her 
refusal until Richard Copeland offered himself as a substitute. 
Alice rode out with Mrs. Read and Josephine; and Ida lay 
down at dusk upon a sofa, within a recess of the parlor. She 
soon dropped into a light slumber ; and thought that she was 
dreaming still, when she heard voices, and saw, ^twixt sleeping 
and waking, two figures, dimly visible in the fire-light. 

« You are cruelly unjust, Richard. Why seize upon every 
pretext to attack and wound one who never had an unkind 
thought of you V* 

“Because I have no respect for you, Lelia,” was the cool 
rejoinder. “ Your trifling is disgraceful — ^inhuman V* 

“I never trifled with you?^' 

“ For the best of reasons — ^you never had the chance. You 
will affirm too, that you did not design to coquet with Hilton 
or Shcppard.^^ 

“ Their unhappiness was the fruit of their own blind folly.” 

Blind folly ^ it was to love a heartless woman! And this 
Lacy — are you retaining him as a corj)s de reserved* 

“ He is nothing to me — 

An ejaculation of extreme disgust interrupted her “ Now this 
is too much 1 Do you think then that a solitary manoeuvre has 
been unnoticed by me? that I have not divined even the motive 
of your altered behaviour to Miss Ross? You have either 
guessed or heard what has been told me within a day or two — 
that he was her lover last winter — either discarded, or engaged 
to her now. Have a care ! you may be foiled with your own 
weapons! Adieu His mocking laugh rang through the 
room. Delia remained where he left her; the ruddy glare 
lighting up features contorted by anger or grief. “ Can it bo ?” 


ALONE. 


269 


she said — << But, no !” she smiled, contemptuously. “ A made- 
up tale to work upon my jealousy ! That matters not at 
present — but this — yet I am not discouraged — he is the only 
one!” and muttering over — <<He is the only one!” she lifted 
her bonnet and shawl, and carried them from the apartment. 
Astonishment had chained Ida’s limbs and tongue after she 
realised that she was awake. She grew weak and sick at the 
accomplished duplicity of one so youthful, so faultless in 
seeming; — the windings of her arms about her neck — her 
kisses were like the coil and sting of a serpent. She detected 
the artfulness of her pretended confidence ; her lures to inveigle 
her into some embarrassment or admission which would betray 
her acquaintance with Mr. Lacy. She had suspected her then ; 
the change of manner followed too soon upon the recognition of 
the handwriting. She rejoiced that the house was to be freed 
of her on the morrow. If he could be warned ! but this was a 
prohibited subject to thought as to words, and she was learning 
how to govern both. There was a soiree that evening, and Ida 
had never been more happy to see company. Alice and Lelia 
came together to her room to say farewell, for they were both to 
start early in the morning. She tried to treat them alike, but 
her regrets at losing them were addressed to Alice ; and if they 
were heartfelt, the sigh of relief, with which she turned the bolt 
after them, was equally sincere. 

The bridal festivities were not over until after Christmas, but 
Ida avoided further participation in them by spending holiday 
week at Mr. Dana’s. She was invited expressly to meet Carry 
and Arthur, and, although the precedence belonged to them, as 
more unfrequent visitors,' she was installed in the seat of honour 
as chief guest. Carry inveighed against Mr. Bead’s marriage, 
and was anxious to learn whether it would render her position 
more unpleasant. Ida thought not : — her heart said this could 
hardly be, but she spoke hopefully of the wholesome check Mrs. 
Bead’s elegant propriety would be upon Josephine’s brusqueness. 

They will not agree at first, for Mrs. Bead, if she does appear 
too fond of her ease to contend, is not deficient in resolution ; 
yet the end may be mutual endurance and forbearance. In any 
event I shall remain neutral. Who knows. Carry, but, un- 
promising as the field is, I may do as well as suffer, even there?’* 


270 


ALONE. 


They were alone in Carry^s room. There is one subject, 
upon which I wish to speak to you;'^ said the latter, seriously. 
« Has Arthur said anything to you of himself 
<< No — not particularly.^^ 

He was always too good for me,^' pursued Carry. You 
need not hold up your finger so threateningly — but for a year 
past, I felt that he was growing better, while I made no progress. 
After we were married, I discovered that he was in the habit ot 
the daily study of his Bible, and secret prayer. I did not hint 
that I knew it, for it was too sacred a matter for me to touch. 
Ida ! I suffered ! he had a care which I could not share — was ill 
at ease, and I must not cheer him. When you wrote, recounting 
the alteration of your views and prospects, he unsealed his heart 
to me. He had long sought peace, without finding it; but 
latterly, had experienced a glimmering hope he feared to divulge, 
so faint was it — that he was a child of God. I wept for joy and 
grief — joy, for I was sure, although he was not, that he was a 
Christian; — and grief at my own hardness of heart. His light 
has burned brighter and brighter every day ; and he is prepared 
now to avow it to his friends and the world. He says your 
fearlessness, in declaring your principles, filled him with shame, 
and urged him to emulate your example.^ ^ 

Here was one sheaf — an earnest of whitening harvest. The 
barrenness of opportunities for serving and honouring her 
Redeemer, was a troublesome stumbling-block. Her sphere of 
usefulness was so limited ; and she had talents, which might be 
deployed to some purpose in a larger arena. The glowing zeal 
of a young convert called for action. In a moment of discontent 
with herself, and perhaps with her situation, she had expressed 
this to Charley, who silenced her with one line — 

*‘*They also serve, who only stand and wait.’” 

The intelligence of Arthur’s conversion was an unlooked-for and 
refreshing element in her week’s felicity. ‘^Now, Charley, one 
thing more !” she said, when they were talking it over. She 
seldom made a pointed appeal, although he always took it kindly. 
He did not reflect her smile — he only said, gravely ; — << You 
cannot desire it more than I do, Ida.” 

Invigorated in soul and body, and with a bounteous store of 


ALONE. 


271 


loving memories heaped up for the time of famine, she sought 
^ her uncongenial home. Ah, well ! it^s allers been my expe- 
^rience that molasses and water is mighty apt to sour, if it’s kept; 
and it don’t deceive me now,” remarked the oracular Rachel, 
with the decline of the honeymoon. The metaphor was apt. 
‘Mr. Read’s fondness was the saccharine that qualified the insi- 
pidity of his wife’s apathy. He had been elevated to the 
seventh heaven of ecstacy, at his triumph over a host of rivals, 
younger than himself. Her evident preference had incited him 
to the contest, and he had no misgivings of its reality. She was 
a. splendid woman!” He delighted in exhibiting her; and 
hearing this from all sides, with compliments and congratula- 
tions to himself. But this renewal of youth was evanescent. 
He had counted more than half a century — she, not a quarter ; 
and outraged nature revenged herself for his infatuation in striv- 
ing to overleap this mighty gap. She was a << splendid woman !” 
that was unquestionable; but as he mounted guard, from ten at 
night to two or three o’clock in the morning against the wall of 
the assembly-room, waiting for her to despatch the list of part- 
ners that covered both sides of her tablets — he tired and moped, 
and stupidly wondering if the radiant creature, whose laugh came 
to him with each whirl of the interminable waltz, were in truth 
married, and his wife ! it is problematical if he derived perma- 
nent* consolation from the well-timed praises of his old friends, 
who facetiously inquired if he were not << jealous of his pretty 
bird” — or felt greatly flattered by the fine things, comparative 
strangers were saying about his daughter. She was a << splen- 
did woman !” and she shone most at the largest party of the 
winter, where everybody danced (she most sylph-like of all) 
except the papas and mammas, and the past-worthy” chaperons. 
The rooms were hot : — the dancers must have air — the windows 
were robbed of their sashes. Mr. Read was in a draught — what 
of that ? the reflection of his wife’s splendor should have warned 
him. She was not uncomfortable ; — so she glided and pirouetted 
and swam by in the polka, and he shook as if he were afflicted 
with a dance of quite another name. An attack of inflammatory 
rheumatism was the finale. His life was in danger for awhile; 
and to his wife’s credit, be it said, she nursed him dutifully, if 
not affectionately, until he entered upon his convalescence. 


272 


ALONE. 


A few mornings after the doctors announced his safety, Ida 
observed, at breakfast, that Mrs. Read was looking badly. 

<< Confinement in a sick-room does not agree with you, I fear,’^ 
said she, with interest. <<We must not let you fall ill, too. 
Will you not delegate one of us to represent you this forenoon, 
while you take a ride?^’ 

Constant attendance is unnecessary,” she replied. << Here- 
after, I shall not stay in doors as I have been doing. I thank 
you for your oflFer, however. If I can avail myself of it, I will 
do so.” 

« Why did he not come down to breakfast ?” asked J osephine, 
ironically. 

He cannot leave his bed was the calm reply. 

<< Nor turn himself in it, I believe, madam ?” 

<< You are right.” 

« It must cost you a pang to surrender to another the privi- 
lege of allaying his pains, and paying those endearing little 
attentions, to which affection imparts such sweetness. How can 
you think of it?” 

<< I do not consider my health unimportant.” 

<^Not in comparison with his?” continued Josephine, j)ro 
vokingly. 

<< The duty is not rendered less imperative by any compari- 
son.” 

« The pursuit of pleasure and ease is included in this prudent 
care of yourself, I presume, madam ?” 

In that, as in everything else, I shall consult my own incli 
nations.” 

I did not know that a woman had a will of her own after 
she married,” retorted J osephine. 

I am not conscious of having lost my volition or free 
agency.” 

And acting upon this unbiassed volition, you will occupy 
your box at the theatre to-night. I saw a ticket upon the table 
in the parlor.” 

I shall be there ) but there will be room for you, and what- 
ever friend you honor by accompanying.” 

And this is conjugal devotion !” the suppressed wrath boil- 
ing over, — ‘‘ After cajoling a feeble old man into marrying you, 


ALONE. 


273 


you desert him upon a bed of languishing, where he is laid by 
your follies, to flirt with your train of gallants in the most public 
place in the city 

If you have more remarks of like import to make, I will 
hear them in your father’s presence. Miss Read/’ answered the 
unruffled step-mother. « Miss Ida, please excuse my withdraw- 
ing before you have finished your breakfast.” 

Josephine had emphatically picked this quarrel. She had 
received no provocation, and combined with this disadvantage, 
that of loss of temper. Chafing with anxiety to commence the 
warfare she had declared, she was too eager to wait for a pretext ; 
and had plunged into a rash conflict, before estimating the 
strength of the enemy’s forces. Ida said nothing, until she was 
ready to leave the room. She deemed it her duty to speak. 

Josephine,” said she, mildly, << it is not my place to dictate 
to you; but as a well-wisher, I warn you not to carry this 
further. Constant dissension will be the only result. She is 
inclined to live peaceably with you; and she will be a dangerous, 
a powerful enemy.” 

Have I asked your advice?” said Josephine. Her scowl dis- 
suaded Ida from a second remonstrance. In reckless audacity, 
she proceeded straight to her father’s chamber. It was pitiable 
to see that gray-haired man — helpless as infancy with disease, 
and remember that his frayed thread of life was entwisted with 
the golden cord of hers, who had barely attained the meridian of 
her early womanhood. 

Josephine’s visits had been rare and brief, and his salutation 
was surly. « To what am I indebted for this superlative plea- 
sure?” he inquired, stretching his upper lip across his teeth, as 
was his wont, when displeased. 

« If I had supposed that my presence was conducive to your 
comfort, no consideration should have detained me from you 
sir,” was the meaning rejoinder. 

He did not answer, but moved uneasily, and asked his wife 
for water. The goblet was nearest Josephine, and she held it 
to him. Lift my head !” he said, fretfully, Ugh ! you hurt 
me! this comes of your officiousness. Why couldn’t you let her 
do it?” 


274 


ALONE. 


(^1 regret, sir, that my unskilful touch is painful,” said Jose 
phine, since you are to be dependent upon my cares.” 

^^What the deuce are you talking about?” he demanded, 
sharply. 

The slumberous eyes surveyed her listlessly over the couch. 

<< My speech is blunt, sir ; I learned it from you, and I have 
an inconvenient practice of saying what I think. Old men, who 
have young and fashionable wives, should not indulge in the 
luxury of sickness. What woman, who has a right appreciation 
of her charms, can hesitate what course to pursue, when a 
decrepid husband is put in one scale — society and a score of 
beaux in the other?” 

His glare of impotent fury was demoniacal — he was too weak 
to control it. The liquid eyes were dreamy and motionless still. 
The irascible old man jerked his head so that he could see her 
face — “ Helen ! what is that girl driving at ?” 

<< She can best explain herself, sir.” 

<< Speak!” he commanded, at the top of his tremulous voice. 

<< I hope you have -made your will, sir;” said Josephine, 
deliberately. 

<^By my life, I will do it, and cut you off, without a copper, 
if you parley much more 1” 

« You virtually severed our connection two months ago, sir. 
A stranger has supplanted me in your heart and house ; and up 
to this time, I have held my peace. This is my revenge. Your 
idol, having used you for her pleasure and advancement, does not 
mean that this sickness, caused by your doating indulgence, 
shall fetter her dainty limbs. On the contrary, it frees her from 
the restraint of your observation, — the incumbrance of your 
attentions.” 

She dropped each word slowly, purposely to aggravate his 
impatience, which was now frightful. Manacled, bound down 
by the fiery bands of his malady, he writhed, as upon a Procrus- 
tean bed. 

<< Helen 1 speak I tell her she lies !” 

<< I never reply to inuendoes, sir.” The eyes were passionless 
as ever. 

« She is gentleness and patience personified,” said Josephine. 


ALONE. 275 

Ask whom she will accompany to the theatre to-night and pray 
her, — your faithful wife — to stay with you/' 

<< The theatre I” he uttered. « Are you going, and with 
whom 

<< With Mr. and Miss Talbot j" and save that she fastened 
her gaze upon him, instead of her, she looked and spoke the 
same. 

<< The < Miss,' is an adroit addenda," sneered Josephine. 

Her father was silent. His selfishness was wounded. He 
was angered and mortified that his wife should consign him to 
the care of others and find enjoyment in gay recreations, while 
he lay crippled and racked; but he detected the spring of Jose- 
phine’s interference, and pride cried loudly that her impertinent 
malice should be punished. A study of his wife’s determined 
face settled the point. If they differed, the mischief-maker should 
not know it. « Hark you !" said he, with sudden composure. 

I see your game, my lady, and you may as well throw up your 
cards. I am master in my house, and there is no law against 
turning you out of it. I thought I had taught you this already. 
I have a piece of advice, you will do well to bear in mind. 
Attend to your ownjj^siness, and let your betters alone. Now, 
be off! and don’t let me see you again until you can behave 
yourself.” 

« I obey you,- sir. If you want my services, I trust you will 
send for me." 

Mr. Read was awkwardly embarrassed, when left with his 
wife. Domineering and stubborn as he was, she awed him. 
Her haughty endurance of his foolish fondness gave him no lien 
upon her affections ; and the sang-froid, she had preserved under 
Josephine’s insolence, was a bad augury of the efficacy of 
reproaches. She consulted her watch, and informed him that it 
was the hour for his medicine ; administered it, and shook up 
his pillow. 

Helen,” said he, coaxingly, « are you in earnest about leaving 
me? What shall I do ?’’ 

« Sarah will wait upon you. I have the utmost confidence in 
her fidelity." 

« But what is a servant's nursing, after yours ?" 

« It is a pity you entertain this repugnance to every one’s 


276 


ALONE. 


attentions but mine. My health and spirits are injured by 
fatigue and want of rest. You are recovering, there is no abso- 
lute necessity for my remaining with you ; and it is necessary 
that I should take care of myself. We had best suspend this 
discussion, Mr. Read. You have been too much excited this 
morning; and arguments are useless, as my plans are made.” 

And my plans are made” became the law of the household, 
— Josephine excepted, who had her schemes also. There was an 
ominous calm. Mr. Read mended gradually. His daughter’s 
resentment outlived his ; but his pride was as inflexible as hers. 
She would not enter his chamber, and he would not recall her. 
His wife performed mechanically a routine of duties, self-enjoined, 
as covering all that could be required of her. The residue of her 
time was devoted to the world, out of which, she did not seem 
to live. She held her position as leader of the ton. She was 
the best-bred, best-dressed, and best-educated woman of her 
circle. No party was complete without her; and none vied with 
hers, in elegance and agreeableness. People gossipped, and 
prophecied, and pitied her poor old husband” — courted and 
aped her. Ida had made a public profession of her faith, and was 
humbly « waiting.” Her health did noj^now debar her from 
mingling in society ; and she could discern ' neither wisdom nor 
piety in a hermit’s life. Her re-appearance amO^gst them was 
hailed with acclamations by most of her acquahitances. Some 
were shy for a time, thanks to Josephine’s exposition of her 
<< strait-laced notions ;” but her cheerful frankness banished their 
reserve ; and if not so noisily admired, she was more beloved 
than in her palmy days. 

She was one evening at a « sociable” at Mrs. Morris’, the 
cynosure of a group, the liveliest in the room, for it comprised 
Ellen, Mr. Thornton, Charley, Mr. Germaine, Mr. Villet, and 
Richard Copeland. Charley was relating an amusing story ; and 
Ida’s peculiarly contagious laugh created as much merriment as 
the anecdote. 

Miss Ross is even happy,” said Mr. Villet. Your being 
devoU does not make you sad, morose — comme d V ordinaire.’' 

A glance of apprehension was exchanged by some of the circle ; 
and Ida colored, as she replied, smiling, « I do not know why it 
should, Mr. Villet.” 


ALONE, 


277 


The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders: <«NorI! I do not 
comprehend these affairs myself, but it is usual, I believe, for the 
visible visage to elongate with the expansion of the — qu’est ce 
que c^est ? — grace in the soul/^ 

There was a laugh. Charley and Ida were grave j and Mr. 
Villet^s politeness took the al^rm. I entreat your pardon, 
Miss Ross ; I did not meditate an offence.^' 

<< You have given none,^^ answered she. << You would not 
knowingly make sport of what you must respect. Religion is 
not gloomy, nor is it ridiculous.^^ 

« Its professors, with some honorable exceptions, are one or 
the other,^^ said Richard. 

<^This is their misfortune or failing, not the fault of the 
system,^^ returned Ida. « Mortal nature is fallible, Mr. Cope- 
land.^' 

You admit it, then said Mr. Thornton. “ The greatest 
objection I have to pious people is that they do not permit this 
indulgence to abused human nature. They wind themselves up 
in their impenetrable cloaks of sanctification and perfectionism, 
and send us — no matter where — for hankering after innocent 
amusements. And*1f one of their caste beats time to a merry 
tune, or shows his head inside of a theatre, he is run down as 
if he had the hydrophobia. Such sermons as they preach about 
the hand or foot offending ! It would be a wise precaution, in 
my judgment, to make the amputation of the feet part of the 
ceremony of initiation into church membership. You are superior 
to such narrow-mindedness, I hope, Miss Ida V’ 

<< If < narrow-mindedness' signifies drawing a distinct line of 
demarkation between the church and the world, I shall come 
under your lash, Mr. Thornton." 

<^And do you, candid and liberal as you are, declare that 
there is sin — mind you ! a ^ want of conformity to, or transgres- 
sion of the law of God' — in moving through a certain form of 
steps to the sound of music ?" said he, indignantly. 

I do not profess to see sin in the mere act of dancing," 
replied Ida; <^but — I do not wish to argue, Mr. Thornton. If 
nothing else forbade my joining in the amusement, it is prohi- 
bited by the church to which I belong." 

<< Worse and worse ! Miss Ida, this is unworthy of you. It 

24 


278 


ALONE. 


is the Papal doctrine of depositing one^s conscience in the priest’s 
pocket book. If your church commanded you to steal or kill, 
would you obey 

<«No; for a higher law forbids it. I am bound to follow the 
church only so far as it follows the Bible. 

« But the Bible says there is a time to dance.’' 

Ida smiled ; << I am suprised,” said she, that sensible per- 
sons should quote that poor text so frequently, as authority for 
dancing. In the same connection we read, < there is a time to 
kill — you would be loath to defend a murderer who justified 
his crime by an appeal to this passage. ^ A time to die;’ — who 
sees in this permission to shorten his days ?” • 

And you must turn pavior, Thornton, because < there is a 
time to gather stones together,’ ” said Charley. 

There was another laugh, in which Mr. Thornton joined 
good-humoredly. << Weak as my text is, I am consoled by the 
knowledge that you cannot produce one interdicting that which 
reason and observation teach is not reprehensible.” 

Not an explicit prohibition, perhaps,” answered she, hesi- 
tating. 

<^Well an implied one, then?’* 

Ida’s cheeks flushed, painfully, but her voice was firm as she 
said, <^I read, < Be ye not conformed to the world;’ and < What- 
soever ye do, do all to the honor and glory of God,’ and my 
conscience says I would be guilty of wilful disobedience to the 
written commandment, and dishonor my profession, if I disre- 
garded the plain meaning of these words.” 

Charley had bided his time. She stood the test well, and he 
came in to the rescue. ^<She is right, Thornton. You and I 
know it — why dispute it? Only yesterday, you were laughing 
at the inconsistency of the < dancing Christians’ you frolicked 
with down the country.” 

I commended their liberality, their freedom from supersti- 
tion,” interposed Thornton, still laughing. 

Humbug ! you said — < they have found a road to the Celes- 
tial City, which our orthodox brethren about here do not patron- 
ise ; — have graded and widened the strait and narrow way we 
read of, until it is as smooth as a ball-room floor ; and dance up 
the shining route. I used to think some preparation was requi- 


ALONE. 


27D 


site, before I could be fitted for heaven ; but I am comforted in 
spirit since meeting them. My chance is as good as theirs in 
the long run.^ Those were your very words — deny them if you 
can, or that you were ridiculing them. You are, like myself, 
more than a Sabbath-day^s journey from being a Christian; and 
you assert that they are not much better off. The plain English 
of which is, that you are consistent to your professions ; — they 
say they believe one thing, and practise the opposite. Pretend- 
ing to dispise the vanities of this life, they pursue them more 
eagerly than the things which are unseen and eternal. If a man 
unites himself with the church, let him live as if he were changed. 
I go to the threatre, although I do not consider it the best school 
of morals one can frequent; but it grieves me to see, in my 
neighbor, a so-called pious man. I am ashamed for him — my 
respect for the reputation of his church is greater than his. I 
dance — and sleep afterwards with an easy conscience ; but if you 
ever see me ^ tripping on the light fantastic toe,^ with an angelic 
creature who is a communicant in a Bible-reading sect, you may 
write it down as an immutable fact, that she asked me — not I 
her \” 

Charley was lawless. Nobody criticised or was offended with 
him; and Ida was always certain of finding in him, an ally and 
advocate ; but grateful as she was for his ready aid, upon occa- 
sions like the present, she prized more highly the counsels, 
which his knowledge of mankind, and his undeviating sense of 
rectitude qualified him to give. She had faults, — he pointed 
them out; she erred in judgment, — he corrected the evil as far 
as he could. The spectacle of his daily life was useful. He 
possessed almost boundless influence over his associates, and 
their attachment to him was close and strong. They under- 
stood, intuitively, the worth of the inner man, — never fully 
unveiled to the majority of them, and could not but admire and 
esteem. And Ida’s constant thought of him was — If he, call- 
ing himself unconverted, accomplishes so much — what ought 
not I — a Christian, to attempt V* 


280 


ALONE. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

Mr. Read was in his private sitting-room; — it adjoined his 
chamber, and his longest walk was from one apartment to the 
other. The sun beamed cheerfully through the damask curtains, 
and the fire blazed and crackled in the gate; but wrapped 
in his wadded dressing-gown, his feet sunk heavily into a 
cushion, and his face contracted into a fretful frown, he appeared 
to be enduring the extreme of cold and discomfort. He was a 
sorry picture of a three months^ bridegroom. His surroundings 
were tasteful and luxurious, — books and papers and pictures and 
handsome furniture, and at his elbow stood a silver hand-bell, 
whose tongue would bring an obsequious servant, ready to per- 
form his bidding; yet his sigh, as he fidgeted uneasily in his 
downy fauteuily was a groan of repining. — <^Like a jaded old 
hack! they won’t knock him in the head, in consideration of 
past services ; but he may die as soon as he can — the quicker the 
better 1” 

The Northern papers have come, sir, and I thought you 
would like to see them;” said a gentle voice. It was his ward. 
A grunt and a gesture bade her put them upon the stand. 

“ Are you in pain this afternoon ?” she asked, sympathizingly. 

I am always in pain 1” 

<< Can I do anything for you ?” 

No 1” He reached for the papers; but a twinge in his shoulder 
forced him to drop them. Ida picked them up. The desolate 
old man excited her sincerest pity. 

It must weary you, holding those large sheets ; and the print 
is fine. If you will designate the articles you wish read, I will 
do it for you with pleasure.” 

The offer was tempting, although its acceptance was ungra- 
cious. He pointed to a piece, and she removed her bonnet and 
seated herself near him. He did not inquire if she were going 
out, and she did not make her sacrifice meritorious in his eyes, 
by informing him that she gave up her walk to minister to his 
enjoyment. She read well; — her voice was exquisitely modu- 


ALONE. 


281 


lated; her enunciation perfect; Mr. Read forgot to he peevish, 
and his corrugated forehead lost half its wrinkles. When sh-e 
ceased, he seemed to have been lulled by a strain of music. The 
article selected was an editorial leader on political economy, 
unintelligible and prosy to Ida; but she endeavored not to let this 
appear. He nodded, and stripped the envelope from another 
sheet. His eye gleamed, and with an approach to a smile, he 
showed her six columns of an oration ; — a grand effort of the 
immortal sage of Marshfield. Ida was appalled at the superficies 
of the solid mass, but she said over to herself, a verse she had 
lisped at her mother’s knee. 

“ Did I this day, for small or great. 

My own pursuits forego. 

To lighten, by a feather’s weight, 

The load of human woe?” 

and began the terrible undertaking. The preamble over, she 
became insensibly interested. Her soul-lit face and ringing in- 
tonations supplied to the auditor, the actual presence of the 
orator; he looked and listened until the light failed; then 
rang for candles. Mrs. Read, returning from her airing, seated 
herself silently by the fire. It was the prettiest domestic scene 
that had ever been witnessed in that house; and how little 
reality was there in its air of home-happiness! 

Is that all?” asked Mr. Read, at supper-time. 

<< Almost, sir. I can soon finish it. I will not detain you Mrs. 
Read.” But she waited to hear the conclusion. A gruff Thank 
you,” was Ida’s only reward, besides the praise of her conscience; 
and her tired throat obliged her to refuse Charley his favorite 
song that night, but she did not repent. She volunteered her 
services whenever she knew that there were new books or journals, 
and at length, the latest intelligence was distasteful, unless it 
came through her lips. It was a selfish gratification ; and she 
did not delude herself with illusions of personal attachment. She 
strove to live for the benefit and pleasure of her fellow-beings ; to 
leave her interest and ease out of sight; and she could not have 
been in a better school. The woman’s heart was not still. There 
were moments of weariness and longing, and passionate regrets. 
The soul, refusing the realities, which made up the sum of every- 
day duty, pined for the remembered <‘I)ream Land ;” — its retreat, 

24 * 


2S2 


ALONE. 


and the scene of its holiday revels j — and when the aching and 
thirst were at their height, it was a trial to smile at a caress from 
Mrs. Dana, or a friendly act of Charley’s — dear and thoughtful 
brother ! when she could have rested her tired head upon the 
kind bosom, and wept her life away — but she did smile, and 
bore up bravely until God gave her strengh to rise above the 
weakness. 

The Sabbath was a season of delight. A band of little girls 
watched eagerly for her at Sabbath-school. Inclement indeed 
must the day be, that saw their form vacant ) for she was always 
at her post, and regarded snow and rain as minor hindrances 
when her flock nestled closely to << dear Miss Ida.’’ No class 
loved their teacher and their Bible so well as hers; her co-labo- 
rers said she had a secret spell, by which she won and governed 
them ; and she had, — for she was ever mindful that she had 
another account to render than her report to the Superinten- 
dent, and prayed that it might be — Those whom Thou gavest 
me, I have kept, and none of them is lost.” She loved her 
pastor ; but her aquaintance with him was slight. He visited her 
at stated times, and esteemed her an amiable girl, with a credit- 
able fund of general information he could not know the exer- 
cises of all his members and that a woman whose life was so 
uncheckered, should have any difficulties and sorrows, but such 
as are incidental to the experience of every Christian, never 
crossed his brain. But he was a faithful expounder of the Scrip- 
tures; and if he did not remark the changeful light of the eyes, 
which never released him from the text to the Amen” of his 
discourse; — she felt that consolations and advice so applicable, 
must be meant for her ; and remembered him in her orisons, as 
a Shepherd who eared for his sheep, and selected for each, food 
convenient for him. She resolved repeatedly, to thank him for 
his fidelity; but her courage melted when the opportunity 
arrived ; and she would rebuke the vanity that bred the desire. 
She read that in the primitive church, << those who loved the Lord, 
spake often to one another ;” and imagined, in her simplicity, 
that such intercourse would be of mutual comfort and profit; 
yet a seal was upon her mouth, und she waited and wished in 
vain, for a word in the conversation of her brethren, which would 
dissolve it. It was strange that she could speak freely and 


ALONE. 


283 


heartily to Carry and to Charley, and be restrained by the pre- 
sence of those, who had tasted like joys — were bound upon the 
same pilgrimage as herself. 

There was an exception — a minister from another State, with 
whom she once dined at Mr. Dana^s ; a merry-hearted, whole- 
souled man, whose store of anecdote and pleasantry enlivened the 
company at table ; — and after dinner, gathering from a passing 
remark, that she was a professing Christian, he sought her out; 
and while the rest were busy about other matters, they were 
talking of the peace which passeth understanding,'^ and the 
home in preparation for them ; — not with austere gravity, but, 
easily and happily, as befitted a topic so inspiriting. They sepa- 
rated — not to meet again in time; and Ida went on her way, 
cheered and strengthened by the interview, and hoping to thank 
him in heaven, for the seed he had sowed by the wayside — not 
in the Scriptural sense of the term. 

Mr. Read's disease assumed a chronic type. Some days well 
enough to transact business in person, — then relapsing, in con- 
sequence of trifling exposure or change of weather, his existence 
was a series of anxieties und sufferings. Ida did not know how 
she became his nurse; Josephine would not endure his petulance, 
and her retorts exasperated him ; and his wife was too deep in 
the vortex of fashionable life to waste many minutes upon him ; 
it was unjust and unfeeling to abandon him to the care of menials; 
and as with her reading, what was a favor, voluntarily offered, 
came to be regarded as a duty, expected and unrequited. The 
Danas objected to this thankless sacrifice; but she persisted. 
It was during one of his worst spells, that an incident occurred, 
which she did not heed at the time, but when recalled by sub- 
sequent events, was fraught with meaniug. It was in the evening ; 
and she was on her way to the dining-room, to order a cup of 
tea for the invalid, when the light streaming through a crack in 
the parlor-door suggested the probability that the servant she was 
in quest of, was lighting the lamps in there. She pushed the 
door open. Mrs. Read was in the middle of the room, her face 
averted, and her arm extended in repulsion or denial, towards 
a tall, dark man, who was speaking in a low, excited tone. 
n ( Forget *' I do not forget that circumstances are not what they 
were then *" was all that Ida heard, as she retired hastily and 


284 


ALONE. 


unseen. As sbe passed through the entry, she caught a noise, like 
the rustle of drapery, but supposed it to be the waving of her 
dress in the mind. Mr. Read was in agony; and. Ida sent to 
request Dr. Ballard’s immediate presence. The messenger’s 
steps were not cold upon the stairs, when the sick man tor- 
mented himself with impatience for the physician’s arrival. 

If the servant had a pass, it was not signed — if it was signed, 
he had lost it — if he had lost it, Ballard would wait to eat his 
supper, before he came. I wish he had this shooting fire through 
his limbs ! It would put some speed into his lazy body ! Ah ! 
there he his !” 

It was Mrs. Read, who meeting the servant with the tea, and 
hearing of her husband’s state, had taken it from him. Ida, 
pre-occupied as she was, noticed that she was pale and agitated. 
Her voice too, was tremulous, and had a cadence that might have 
been mistaken for tenderness. 

I grieve to see you so much worse. Drink this, it may 
relieve you,” she said, slipping her hand under his pillow to raise 
his head. Ida sprang forward to arrest the movement. He was 
sujffering excruciating pain in his neck ; and frantic at its aug- 
mentation by this change of position, he dashed the cup to the 
fipor, with a shocking oath. 

You want to kill me I I’ve seen that for a long time; and 
then you can flaunt to your heart’s content. You can marry 
whom yoti please, and make him rich with my money, like the 
shameless wretch you are !” he yelled, distractedly. 

The smothered fire leaped high — the dark eye blazed with 
wrath, but she uttered not a sound, as she turned from him. Ida 
had never seen such a look in mortal face, and wild with fear 
of, she know not what, darted after her, and overtook her in the 
dressing-room. 

Oh ! do not ! do not !” she exclaimed, flinging her arms 
around the stately form. 

^‘Do not what?” said the lady, trying to unlock her fingers. 
Ida held her fast. 

Oh ! the horrible thing that is in your thoughts ! He is 
mad with pain — he did not mean — did not think what he did. 
He says as hard things to me, to every one — but he loves you ! 
he does love you!” and dropping her head upon the lady’s breast, 


ALO N E 


285 


she sobbed like a child. The haughty woman stood irresolute — 
passive in the tenacious grasp of the over-excited girl. 

<< He drove me from him — struck me V* she said, in thick 
accents. « Why should I stay 1” 

It was rather a soliloquy than a question, and Ida reiterated, 
« He did not mean it ! he loves you I” 

Do you love him?^^ inquired the lady, lifting her face, and 
gazing piercingly into it. 

<< I pity him,^' said Ida. 

Do you hate him ?” she asked, more energetically. 

<< No, I hate no one.^^ 

Yet you have cause.'' 
try to forgive." 

<< You do not hate him!" repeated Mrs. Read; and again to 
herself, she added, i do 1" 

Ida let her go. I pity him !" she said, with mournful 
earnestness," but I pity you more I doomed to a life of false- 
hood and misery ! Heaven pity you as I do." 

<< Stay !" said Mrs. Read, as she would have gone back to the 
chamber. << Do you despise me utterly ? Am I lost ?" 

“ <Lostr no — while life and reason last, there may be room 
for repentance." 

Repentance ! what had she, so queenly in her pride and beauty, 
to do with repentance? yet the words seemed to strike her. 
Mr. Read’s querulous tones called <^Ida!" << I must go," she 
said. << Will you come ?" 

<< Not now — presently." 

The patient was slumbering heavily under the influence of the 
medicine. Dr. Ballard prescribed, when his wife rejoined her 
assistant nurse — lofty and unimpressible. She regarded the 
sleeper long and fixedly. His hair was nearly white, and his 
features pinched by sickness, but there was no softening of com- 
passion in the rigid lines of her face. Setting her chair into the 
shade, she was speechless and motionless for hours. They watched 
him together all night ; exchanging only brief remarks as to his 
situation, and the remedies to be employed. He rallied from 
this seizure, and Ida was as far from the brilliant worldling as 
before. 

An unexpected event attracted her from the retirement in 


286 


ALONE. 


whicli her charitable functions had secluded her. Celestia Pratt 
was married ! and to Ellen’s chagrin, to a cousin of the Morris 
family. He was good-looking, ambitious and poor; — she sus- 
ceptible. a Representative’s” daughter, and rich. He wrote to 
his aunt that they would take Richmond in the wedding-tour; 
and she was obliged, nolens volens, to give them a party. Ida 
was disinclined to attend; but Ellen’s solicitations conquered 
her reluctance. Mr. Cranleigh, the groom, was gentlemanly, even 
handsome, and accepted the customary greetings with as much 
complacency, as though his wife were not, as Ellen groaned to 
Ida — Celestia, unmitigated Celestia !” 

penny for your thoughts!” said Ida, tapping Charley’s 
arm with her fan. 

I was thinking what falsehoods geologists tell us about the 
thickness of the crust of the earth, and how many years the 
mines of Peru have beeen worked.” 

A profound subject for deep meditation, but I am at a 
loss 

Why, allowing a thousand brides a week in the civilized 
world, (and there are quadruple that number,) according to my 
rough computation, the miners ought to be within hail of the 
Chinese, or whatever nation is the antipodes of the Peruvians, 
by this time.” 

Their kindred craft, the jewellers, have been called upon by 
the Celestia-ls,'’ said Mr. Thornton. 

<‘’Pon my word!” remarked Pemberton to Josephine, «I 
have heard of men who married « for pretty,’ but it’s my opinion, 
Cranleigh married for ugly.” 

Josephine laughed, but her attention was absorbed by some 
object in another- part of the room. You know everybody,” 
said she ; who is that gentleman talking with the bride ?” 

He knew everybody, and this must be nobody. He had 
certainly seen him somewhere before — it might have been at 
Newport — or perhaps in New Orleans, yet he could not call his 
name. Why did she inquire ? 

A question by the way — she was not curious. He had . a 
foreign air, and she fancied might be one of Mr. Pemberton’s 
friends — he had so many abroad.” 


ALONE, 


287 


He had, and it would be awkward not to recollect him, if he 
should speak. 

There’s Cranleigh ! he knows \” 

The stranger’s name was Ashlin, an early acquaintance of 
Mrs. Cranleigh’s, and later from the West Indies. 

« Had he resided there long ?” Miss Read asked. 

Two years — nearly three, indeed.” 

Mr. Ashlin was graceful and dutingui^ and Ida was attacked 
by an unaccountable curiosity. She interrogated the bride. 

What handsome man was that, you were conversing with, 
awhile ago, Celestis^?” 

Her face was broad with smiles. Law ! why Mr. Cranleigh, 
my husband, to be sure ! Havn’t you been introduced ? Here ! 
Mr. Cran— ” 

Oh ! lon’t !” said Ida. << I know him — don’t interrupt 
him ! I alluded to that tall gentleman by the folding-doors.” 

That’s Mr. Ashlin. He used to live close by Pa’s ; and 
then his uncle died out in Cuba or West India, I forget which — 
and he went off there, where he’s been three years, rolling in 
money they say. He’s mighty smart too — Tm ’most afraid of 
him. Don’t he look like a-a-cannibal !” said Mrs. Cranleigh, 
some reminiscene of New Zealand history coming to her help. 

<< His is a dark beauty, certainly,” replied Ida, hiding a smile. 

I should say if he had not lived abroad, that I had seen his 
face somewhere else.’* 

You needn’t be setting your cap !” retorted the bride, spite- 
fully. He won’t be so easy caught as that Mr. Euston, you all 
think such an Adolphus. He’s engaged.” 

Ah ! who is the fortunate lady ?” 

<< A Miss Courtland, — or some such name ; — that is — he was 
engaged once, but, seems to me. I’ve heard that he jilted her, 
and she married a rich old man for his ^ tin.’ ” 

« What did you call her ? Speak lower !” said Ida. 

Law ! you’re scared ! what ails you?” 

Nothing — nothing !” laughing. << You had as well be silent 
about this Mr. Ashlin, — he has quick ears, and gentleman do 
not admire gossiping ladies. You have a splendid bouquet — is 
this Mr. Cranleigh’s taste ?” 

And while the history of the courtship, from their meeting at ^ 


288 


ALONE. 


the Sulphur Springs’^ to the present glorification, was pouring 
upon her tympanum, she was arguing away her unjustifiable 
suspicions. His general appearance was that of the gentleman 
she had a glimpse of in Mr. Read’s parlor; and Mrs. Read’s 
behaviour that evening was so extraordinary as to give colour to 
the story ; — But Celestia always garbled the simplest narrations, 
murdering names and jumbling facts, until it was next to impos- 
sible to arrive at the truth. A three years’ absence, too ! How 
nonsensical she was ! Her fears returned, however, with rein- 
forcements, when he attached himself to Mrs. Read’s cordon of 
admirers. These were not all young men. Elderly gentlemen, 
who had not lost their eye for fair faces, and taste for repartee, 
were recipients of as gracious welcomes as were apportioned to 
their youthful rivals ; and sagacious damsels, of doubtful belle- 
ship and charms, crept beneath the wings of her popularity, 
large enough to shelter a female favorite or so. Mr. Ashlin 
entered the outmost precincts of this circle, and by imperceptible 
advances penetrated to the centre of attraction. Mrs. Read 
flushed slightly, with surprise or displeasure, as he established 
himself by her side ; but nothing intimidated, he presently 
usurped the management of the conversation ; holding up some 
to ridicule so cleverly that they had only themselves to blame, 
and did not suspect his agency ; flattering others, until they 
dropped off like surfeited leeches ; and angering some so openly, 
that Ida, who was near enough to get an inkling of what was 
transpiring, was assured that he was playing for a rich stake. 
His purpose was eff’ected ; he had a clear field ; and with no 
alteration of manner, unless a shade of respect moderated his 
gay insouciance j he continued his attentions. No place is better 
for a confidential confabulation than a crowded room, if the 
parties understand how to conduct it. The initiated would have 
surmised from an occasional gleam of the eye, and the varying 
expression of that most uncontrollable of features, the mouth, 
that something more important than sugared nothings was upon 
the tapis; but to the purblind merrymakers, as a body, Mrs. 
Read was examining a portfolio of prints, and her companion, a 
travelled gentleman, descanting upon High Art” in << the 
States,” as contrasted with the love for poetry, painting and 


ALONE. 289 

music, which, it was said, prevailed in gay, pleasure-loving 
Havanna. 

Ida was surprised that Mr. Ashlin requested a presentation to 
herself, and still more at the pertinacity with which he cultivated 
the acquaintance he must see she did not desire. He triumphed 
over her prejudice, inveterate as she had thought it. His air of 
deep interest — the admiration, too respectful to be conveyed in 
words, which spoke in every look and action, were dangerous 
flattery, and Ida was not invulnerable. But in reviewing the 
events of the evening, distrust obscured the pleasing recollection 
of bis captivating address and the magic of his eloquence. Why 
was it bestowed upon her — a stranger, and so little attractive in 
her appearance ? Why, especially, •should he have asked per- 
mission to call ? He knew Mrs. Read, and to her the applica- 
tion should, in etiquette, have been made. There was a vague 
apprehension hanging over Jier — a foreboding, for which she 
could assign no cause. He called, as he had promised, “ at 
an early day.^^ The family were collected in Mr. Read's room, 
when his card was brought to the lady of the house. 

Mr. Ashlin," she read. Whom did he ask for, John ?" 

<< The ladies, ma'am." 

<< Very well. Josephine, I will thank you and Miss Ida to 
receive him, and excuse me." 

Excuse mCj if you please !" answered Josephine, bridling. 
« I scarcely know the gentleman, and do not covet the honour." 

<< Miss Ida ?" said Mrs. Read, inquiringly. 

Why not go down with me, ma'am ? Are you indisposed ?" 

<< You need not say so — I am engaged. I really wish it," she 
added, for Ida was undecided. 

Tlibn I will go," said she, with a sensation of infinite relief. 

Josephine followed her out. Beware, my lady-like 
Tartufie !" hissed she, sneering in baffled malignity. “You are 
mixing yourself up in a scrape which will not reflect much 
credit upon the elect." 

Her fiendish laugh was echoing after her, as Ida gained the 
parlor. 

Mr. Ashlin did not appear abashed or disappointed, upon 
receipt of the apologies. He bowed, with a civil regret, and 

25 


290 


ALONE. 


seemed to forget that there were other ladies in the house or in 
the world, than the one he was entertaining. 

Ida’s disagreeable oppression returned onee, at his smile, when, 
in reply to his inquiry, she stated that the portrait in the niche 
opposite him, was Mr. Read’s. 

He got up to inspect it. To Ida, he was measuring himself 
with it, as he straightened his Apollo figure, and expanded his 
full chest. 

A good painting!” he observed. <<How long since it was 
taken ?” 

“ Two years.” 

<< The pencil of time is the best test of the value of a picture 
— to some it is a destroyer,, — it beautifies others. An excellent 
piece of work !” — still scanning it. << Is the likeness correct ?” 

<< Uncommonly — or was, when it was painted. Mr. Read 
looks older and thinner now, that his health is impaired.” 

Again that sinister smile ! but he said nothing more. 

He called again, with a friend, an Tiabitu6 of the house. It 
was evening, and Mrs. Read saw them. The length of his stay 
in Richmond was indefinite j — they were not sure but each visit 
was his last ; and he, keeping up the uncertainity, came fre- 
quently, at the hours which suited him best. Josephine, 
succumbing seemingly, to the power of his wizard wand, freely 
declared her dread of his departure; Ida felt as much when 
with him, and revoked it, secretly, as soon as her eyes recovered 
from their dazzlement. Mrs. Read treated him, as she did her 
other visitors, and bore no part in the chorus of laudations 
chaunted in his absence. When Mr. Read was well enough to 
see company, he fell an easy conquest to the arts of the inimita- 
ble stranger. << He was” — he protested, a better doctor than 
Ballard. An hour of his society was more beneficial to him, than 
the apothecary’s entire stock of drugs.” 

His birth-day was near at hand, and he determined to invite 
his friends to rejoice with him, at his partial restoration to 
health. It was to be an unostentatious affair — a dinner, and no 
ladies but those belonging to the family. Mr. Read was . as 
impatient as a child at its first tea-party. 

“They are late, Helen! they are not coming!” he said every 
few minutes, while they were awaiting the guests. He was 


ALONE. 


291 


«7orkiiig himself into a passion, when the welcome ring appeased 
him. 

Mr. Copeland I” called the stentorian lungs of the footman ; 
and Mrs. Read was as white, as if the hand of Death had smit- 
ten her. 

“ How are you all said Richard, in his joyous, rattling 
style. << Miss Ross, I am delighted to meet you — Miss Jose- 
phine, I will not disparage your blooming cheeks by asking 
after your health, — and you, Mr. Read, have been practicing 
upon our fears, by stories of illness — hasn’t he, Helen — ^ou are 
ill \” he said, brought to a full stop by her pallor. 

<<111 ! you are well — are you not?” said Mr. Read, in alarm. 

Well! yes! what notions you have, Richard!” and the color 
flowed back. « When did you come in ? — down, I mean, and 
how are they at home ?” 

<< < Home’ is too brideish for a demure matron ; but they are 
well, and sent love. I arrived this morning, and should have 
been in before, but for business.” 

<< Don’t leave the room, Helen. Somebody will come while 
you are out. Send John for what you want;” said Mr. Read. — 
She was slipping out through the back parlor. 

« I will be gone but a second,” she answered ; and Mr. Read 
was still telling Richard how opportune his visit was when she 
returned. She was the collected, urbane hostess, only an eager 
glance at each arrival, betrayed nervousness or expectation. Mr. 
Read watched the door, also ; and his displeasure at the tardi- 
ness of his favorite was audibly vented. 

Helen ! why don’t Mr. Ashlin come ?” he said, in Ida’s hear- 
ing. Ears less acute would not have distinguished his wife’s reply. 

« Hush ! these people are jealous of your preference already. 
He will be here before long.” 

Ida had mislaid her hankerchief, or not brought it into the 
room ; and Richard ofiered to favor her retreat by a journey into 
the next room, to look at some green-house plants. Leaving him 
bending over them, she ran up-stairs, found the missing article, 
and was hurrying down, when a ring arrested her upon the 
lower landing. Thinking to let the visitor enter before her, she 
stepped back out of sight. 


292 


ALONE. 


<< Mr. AsLlin, I beg your pardon, sir,’^ said John; my 
mistress told me to give you this before you went into the draw 
ing-room, sir.” 

Mr. Ashlin paused — she judged, to read a note. 

<< All right !” said he. Tell your mistress, I regret exceed- 
ingly that I am called into the country, on account of a friend’s 
danger, and cannot comply with my engagement to Mr. Kead 
this evening. Deliver the message as I have given it. This is 
for yourself, John. Good day.” 

Thank you, sir. Good afternoon.” 

Ida’s limbs shook beneath her. She had not time to unravel 
the mystery — for mystery she knew it to be ; — Mrs. Read’s fright 
at her brother’s entrance ; her incoherence and exit ; the strangely 
worded message ; the bribe to the servant — swam in a chaotic 
medly through her mind. She was sick with terror, until warned 
to conceal her emotions by Richard’s sayings that “ Helen’s 
queer symptoms had become epidemic.” Partaker of the 
alarms of guilt, by her knowledge of the sin, — averse as she 
was to participation in its concealment, she was possessed with 
the idea, that to her was committed the work of blinding Richard. 
While her ears were alert to every sentence uttered around 
her, and she was quaking at the least approach to a mention 
of the absentee, she aimed to monopolize Mr. Copeland’s sense 
and thoughts. She anticipated their quitting the table as a 
blessed change; then a cold agony came over her, at the remem- 
brance that the gentlemen would remain. Discovery, in this 
case, was inevitable. His wife’s caution would not restrain 
Mr. Read from pledging Mr. Ashlin’s health. She thought of 
bantering Richard into withdrawing with the ladies ; — it would 
be too bold — too forward. He would obey, but his respect for 
her would be diminished; — ^as a final alternative, she must 
venture it — but was there no other ? 

Our patient does us credit. Miss Ida.” Her next neighbor 
was Dr. Ballard. 

<<Does yow credit. Doctor. I am only your custodian — a 
daring one, however, for I have a petition to submit. Will 
it not be imprudent for Mr. Read to remain long at table, after 
the cloth is removed? His system is still inflammatory.” 
Her conscience reproved her for the deception, although she 


ALONE. 293 

spoke the truth, hut the case was desperate. The doctor’s pro- 
fessional cap was on instantly. 

<< Unquestionably, my child ! — unquestionably ! well thought 
of. Miss Ida ! We must guard against a relapse. How shall 
we get him into the parlor 

Ida consulted Richard, who referred the case to Charley and 
returned her the reply, that if the ladies would delay their 
departure, a little longer than was customary, — not to startle 
those who loved to tarry at the wine, he would conpert with most 
of the company to rise at the same time. Charley was at the 
helm, and Ida could safely have slept upon her watch. Mr. Read 
demurred at an infringement upon hanquetting laws, hut the 
seceders gallantly insisted upon attending their fair leaders; and 
the most disaffected had not courage to stand their ground. 
It was a weary, weary evening to Ida; she looked and felt 
wretchedly ill, after the guests dispersed. Richard looked in 
again, after saying « good night.” 

I have purchased a buggy to-day,’ said He, to Ida ; and my 
pet horse is in town. Shall I have the pleasure of driving you 
out in the morning?” 

She assented. 

At what hour ?” he asked. 

« I wonder what has happened, that Ashlin stayed away !” 
said Mr. Read. 

Richard started violently. Ashlin !” he echoed with a fiery 
look at his sister. << Ashlin — ^Ashlin ;” he repeated, sensible of 
his imprudence. I have heard the name — who is he ?” 

<< An old friend of your sister’s,” replied Josephine. 

Richard’s face was profoundly meditative. << A small man — 
is he not ? red-haired, stoops in the shoulders, and wears spec- 
tacles ?” 

Mr. Read spoke up indignantly. A magnificent fellow ! gen- 
tlemanly, intelligent, and one of the best hearts in the world.” 

do not know him then!” said Richard, emphatically. 
<<Now I think of it, the red head!s name may have been Ash^ow. 
Say eleven o’clock,” — to Ida — it will be pleasantly warm 
then.” 

It will suit me,” she rejoined, trembling before his gaze. 

He was punctual to the hour. Mr. Read hobbled to the door 

25* 


294 


ALONE. 


to admire his turn-out/^ To him, Eichard was lively and 
friendly as usual, but he refused his sister's invitation to come 
in, and his bow, as his horse sprang off at the loosened rein, was 
to him. They left the city by the shortest route. Beyond the 
houses, Richard slackened their headlong speed. 

^^Miss Ross !" he said, abruptly facing her, have classed 
you among the limited number of your sex, who are upright and 
truthful. Within twelve hours past, I have doubted you. You 
are under no personal obligations to answer my questions but 
as a brother — for the honor of my family, I demand of you, all 
that you know of this Ashlin.'^ 

Which is very little. I never saw him until Mr. Cranleigh's 
marriage, when he was introduced to. me at Mrs. Morris’.'' 

By whom ? by Helen ?" 

<‘By Mrs. Morris, herself. He made a party call, and has 
continued to visit the house." 

Artful as ever!” he said, through his shut teeth. <<Does 
Mrs. Read see him?" 

<<Yes; and Mr. Read." 

The old blinkard ! Does Helen receive him as your friend, 
or as hers ?” 

As the friend of the family." 

Tush I I might commend your diplomacy. Miss Ross, if I 
were not so thoroughly in earnest. It is clear you will not 
advance a step, without knowing why you are questioned. 
Having more confidence in you, than you have in me, I will set 
you an example of candor Ashlin and my sister were betrothed 
when he was at college. We were chums." He is ardent — 
generous in some of his impulses, but as I perceived, even with 
my boyishly irregular notions, lax in principle. Helen was not 
ignorant of my opinion, and with a woman's faith and persever- 
ance, set herself to break it down. You do not know her as she 
was then — high-spirited, proud and passionate, but tractable as 
a child to the voice of affection. Her will was more ungovernable 
than mine, and she almost reconciled me to her choice. He had 
just completed his course at the University, when the death 
of an uncle put him in possession of a valuable estate in Cuba. 
The marriage, which was to have taken place immediately, was 
postponed for twelve months. Meantime, he was to visit his 


ALONE. 


295 


property, and prepare for a permanent residence in the West 
Indies. The year elapsed — he did not return — and suddenly 
his letters were suspended. Helen was insanely trustful; he 
might be ill or dead — dying, or in the grave, he was true ! Her 
romantic independent disposition led her to the formation of a 
mad project — to search for him in person, since she could learn 
nothing in any other way. I could not dissuade her ; — she made 
but one concession, — that I might accompany her. The object 
and direction of our expedition was known only to ourselves. 
We were ready — a day before that fixed for starting, a letter 
came ! He was enamored of an Italian cantatrice ; ^ designed 
marrying her, if Helen would liberate him ; — if not, he would 
redeem his early pledge to her.^ She was ill for weeks ; and 
upon what, I believed was her death-bed, she extorted from me 
a vow not to revenge her. She ^ should have foreseen how it 
would end,^ she said, < blind, confiding dupe, that she was T She 
arose — a hardened, I think, sometimes, a heartless woman of the 
world : — with her trust in him, had perished her faith in God 
and man; an unfeminine panting for wealth and distinction 
filling its place. Chance threw this gold-fish, Bead, in her net ; 
and she clutched him. I had sorrowed for, and commiserated 
her until then ; but so sordid, so wickedly weak was this act, 
that I reproached her angrily. I said it sprang from wounded 
vanity, and a mean desire to glitter, a hollow-hearted, tinselled 
doll in the view of those who would gibe, while pretending to 
applaud ; — that her conduct was as degrading to, her, as morti- 
fying to us, — and she bore my vituperations, without attempting 
to defend herself, < Kichard V she said, when I had exhausted 
my indignation, < better reason with a tornado, than a slighted 
woman V 

^<You regard me as a chattering coxcomb. Miss Ida; but I 
solemnly declare that I could have gone to the block more 
resignedly, than I saw .my beautiful sister sold to her hoary 
bridegroom. These were circumstances, with which I could not 
cope — but the diabolical schemes of this assassin of her peace 
shall not mature ! This is the sad tale — is it quite new to you 
In its details and she related Celestials version. 

« Which furnished you with a key — you have a clear head, 
and a woman^s wit — have you found no locks that it fitted 


296 


ALONE 


No reply. . 

Did you divine the cause of Helen’s embarrassment at my 
appearance, yesterday 

« Not at the time.” 

<< But afterwards. He was invited — did she warn him of my 
being there ? If so, do not say it. I can bear your silence 
better than the truth.” 

can neither deny nor assert, Mr. Copeland. I have 
imagined many dreadful things, which may have no real exist- 
ence. You may judge for yourself.’ 

His brow was lighter, when he had heard her unvarnished 
relation. 

I thank you !” said he, heartily. << We may cicatrize this 
wound yet. I will see Helen to-night ; she expects a reproof ; 
and if she is not what she appears, — refined steel — will make 
her feel. I dare not meet Ashlin — ^but I will write — and if 
he crosses my path again — .” He resumed in a milder tone. 

I would crave one more proof of your good-will, but that I fear 
a refusal.” 

<< Ask it.” 

<< If he renews his visits, will you inform me ?” 

No, sir ! said Ida, positively. <<The service savors too much 
of espionage.” 

<< I was afraid you would see it in that light. Miss Bead,” he 
continued, scornfully, << would require no persuasion to play the 
spy. I was near committing myself last night. His name was a 
galvanic shock.” 

<< I cannot but hope,” said Ida, that, our fears have mag- 
nified shadows into spectres. We are so prone to shape events 
after the fashion of our inclinations or forebodings. Do not 
consider it an impertinent liberty, Mr. Copeland, if I recom- 
mend to you to be very gentle in your reprehension of your 
sister. Callous, self-dependent in semblance, think what her 
sufferings are, empaled by memory and conscience. Oh ! if we 
had more charity for the tempted !” 

Temptation, sin, suffering I how naturally the words succeed 
each other !” mused Bichard. 

<<And they are an epitome of all human woe,” said Ida 


Alone. 297. 

It is a doctrine of mine, that a small proportion of the great 
aggregate of crime is committed from actual love of sin/^ 

She was gratified at his demeanor towards his sister upon 
their return. He dined with them, and was markedly attentive 
to her, combining so much brotherly kindness with a certain 
deference to her wishes and sentiments, that she struggled with 
the softness which menaced her proud composure. As they 
quitted the table, he passed his arm around her waist, and there 
were tears in the eyes upraised to his. No more auspicious 
time could occur for the contemplated conversation ; and Ida 
enticed Mr. Read into his reading room, by the lure of an uncut 
periodical. The words fell from her mouth mechanically — her 
mind was upon the momentous interview. In the character 
and life delineated by Richard, she traced, with a thrill, a 
similarity to her own ; the impetuous temper — unmanageable, 
save when the breath of love sighed over the heart; the blasted 
hope ; the unworthiness of the object of adoration — ah ! this 
bitterest ingredient in the cup of despair was spared her ! but 
the prostration of soul, and body ; then the heaven-threatening 
billows of blasphemous misanthropy, and self-abandonment — the 
parallel was just here — to diverge how widely in the result of 
the ordeal ! one, wilfully completing the ruin of her happiness 
by perjury — cauterizing her heart with corrodents, that eat 
away its fevered life ; the other, dragging herself, wounded and 
weary, to the feet of the Good Physician, to be healed, and fed, 
and sustained by His loving mercy; and the language of Ida’s 
thanksgiving was, Lord ! Thou hast made me to differ 


208 


ALONE. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

The season of sunshine and roses had come, and Carry^ 
demands for her friend’s society were importunate. 

You would not fret your dear heart with harrowing doubts 
of my love for you and Poplar-grove, if you could peep in upon 
me this morning,’^ wrote Ida. Mr. Read is worse. I am 
unfamiliar with the diagnosis of this malady; but I fear his 
condition is very precarious. He is entirely disabled ; cannot 
lift his hand to his mouth without extreme pain, and his nervous 
system is much deranged. I write now at the window farthest 
distant from his bed, and cautiously, that the scratching of my 
pen may not disturb him. I can see your hands and eyes go 
up, and hear the < this is too much !’ which signals the last 
throe of expiring patience as you picture me a nun-like figure, 
with serge gown and close cap ; or more affecting, an attenuated 
damsel, such as we see upon tomb-stones, pressing a handkerchief 
to one eye ; I imagine your multitudinous arguments, each un- 
answerable in its excellence, and which I know by heart. You 
allege that he is not entitled to my cares, inasmuch as there 
are no ties of blood between us ; that he has never done me an 
ungrudged favor; that he is greedy and thankless for my^ 
services ; that his wife and daughter should esteem it their 
duty and pleasure to tend him ; and fifthly and lastly, that 
it is wrong to endanger my health, as your whimsical country 
doctors will have it I am doing Putting the last first, — 
reassure yourself my dear — I am well. I do not prevaricate to 
allay your fears ; I look well, eat well, and sleep well, and I 
may dismiss the remainder of your objections in one sentence — 
I am doing my duty. Carry ! I am morally certain of this, 
more certain, than if you were my charge ; for my love would 
be the mainspring of action then. I am upheld by the assur- 
ance, that I am fulfilling, in my humble way, the command, our 
Saviour appointed as the touchstone of piety to the end of 
time — <Do good to them that hate you, pray for them that 


ALONE. 299 

despitefully use you/ I thank Him that He has vouchsafed 
to me this opportunity to examine myself by this criterion/^ 

The sufferer moaned, and she laid down her pen. You have 
had a refreshing sleep, have you not, sir 

No ! there is no ease for me. Why is that window open ? 
It does seem that you all have conspired that I shall die, 
whether or no. Where is Helen 

She was here awhile ago, and will be in again soon.^' 

“ Is she in the house 

<< I do not know, sir. Let me get what you want.^' 

<< I want her !’* 

She was not at home, and Ida renewed her offer. 

<< Gone out, hey V’ he rambled on, peevishly. << How she 
walks ! as if the ground were not good enough for her feet ! 
ogling and coquetting ! and I am here with an oath. << Where 
is J osephine V* 

“ Down stairs, sir.” 

<^What is she about?” 

“ Anna Talbot is with her.” 

More folly and vanity ! ringlets and ribbons, and bonnets 
and beaux! The world is peopled with knaves and fools — 
women are knaves — men fools. You are a mixture.” 

Ida suppressed a smile. “Your lips are dry,” she said “ here 
is water.” 

He drank it. “ You are I” he went on, obstinately, “I hated 
you from the minute you entered this house, and you repaid me 
with compound interest. Here you are, sitting up at night; 
waiting on me all day. I canH do without you, because you 
are handy and wakeful, but I don^t like you. Do you hear?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“I doir^tl and therefore. Dm a fool to tolerate the sight of 
you. Dm a fool — thais proved ! You are spoiling your eyes 
and complexion, and losing the time you might be catching a 
husband — mewed up here. You expect to be paid when my 
will is read — that’s knavery — hypocritical knavery. I haven’t 
left you a red cent ; you are a fool to think of it, and that!s 
proved !” 

Pitiful driveller ! It was not insensibility, but compassion, 
that closed Ida’s mouth, although she knew this was the revela- 


300 


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tion of the inner chamber of thought, now that the veil of 
custom and policy was rent in twain. 

What time is it?’^ 

Twelve o’clock, sir.” 

<< That’s a lie ! it’s three, at least ! Bring the watch to me. 
It has stopped ! Hold it to my ear — ^you’ve put it back ! Lay 
it down by me ! I don’t trust you again !” 

The hands pointed to one when Mrs. Bead appeared. 

Well, madam !” the form of each tooth was seen through 
the thin lips, stretched over them like yellow parchment. << And 
where have you been traipsing ?” 

I walked down the street.” 

<< And on Main street, too, I’ll swear ! spending more money 
than you’d sell for at auction ! Why don’t you answer me ? 
Your tongue was more glib when you were passing compliments 
with that fellow who walked with you.” 

<< I went out alone, and did not go on Main street.” 

“ You would have been better employed in the kitchen — 
forever gadding ! I don’t want you in here — I’m sick of you and 
your brazen face !” 

“ What error to suppose that sickness softens, and predisposes 
tne heart to repentance !” thought Ida. She went into the 
other room, and beckoned Mrs. Bead. « The doctor was here 
this morning,” she said j and told me, privately, not to mind 
his irritability, nor to answer him, unless silence increased it. 
It is an ordinary symptom in neuralgic affections. We must be 
forbearing.” 

There is a limit to everything,” was Mrs. Bead’s response. 

True — but forbearance should last as long as the pain we 
would cure.” 

That is your theory, Miss Ida. I am tired of the practice. 
You mean well, I have no doubt, but I am not a fit object for 
your charity.” 

The asperity was pointed at herself, rather than at her hearer, 
and Ida pondered upon her words and manner, often during 
the day. 

It did not agree.with” Josephine to sit up” — a constitu- 
tional weakness, loudly lamented, and encouraged, instead of 
overcome. Ida and Mrs. Bead divided the vigil ; the mulatto 


ALONE. 


301 


nurse, Sarah, sleeping in the apartment. Ida was to watch the 
latter part of the night. The patient was cross and restless, 
when she looked in upon him at bed-time — railing, and swearing 
and abusive. 

<‘You want me dead!’' he said to his wife; «hut I won’t 
die — to spite you. I shall live years, and years, and years, ’till 
you are a toothless hag, and walk with a crutch ! Ha ! ha !” 

<< He is delirious !” whispered Ida. « Let me stay with you I” 

He is not! I prefer your retiring. Sarah will call you at 
two.” 

I shall not undress, to-night, Rachel,” said Ida. 1 have 
a presentiment I shall be wanted.” 

Is he much worse ?” 

« No — but I may be called up. I shall sleep here, upon the 
lounge.” 

But sleep was coy to her wooing. If she had ever felt fear, 
she would have known that she was scared and excited. The 
south wind generally affected her unpleasantly, creating heat 
and nervousness ; but to-night the breeze was from the north, 
and the moonbeams were spread in broad, white sheets upon 
the floor. ^‘1 must be sick !” she said, aloud. ‘‘1 cannot ascribe 
this numb horror to anything else. They have a superstition 
that it is a precursor of death.” Her mind rejected this expla- 
nation, but the utterance of that word had populated her soul 
with phantoms. Lynn’s chill, damp hands again enfolded hers; 
and his glazed, upward look — still and fixed, moved not at her 
weeping; the clods rattled upon the coffin — frozen clods! and how 
warmly soever the sun smiled upon the swelling turf — down where 
he slept, it was frosty night still ! Must he, the loved and gifted, 
rest there forever ? would a tender mother’s arms never more 
embrace her, — the dear lips, now turned to dust, never cling to 
hers, in speechless fondness ? But the dead should rise ! some to 
the resurrection of the just, some to everlasting shame and con- 
tempt. Oh ! the unspeakable woe of a hopeless death ! the dying 
strife of the finally impenitent ! Was his end approaching ? << My 
God ! avert from him this doom !” His room was beneath hers. 
She could hear occasionally a groan, which she knew was an 
execration. He might be dying. She thrust her feet into a 
pair of felted slippers, and descended to his. door. << Quiet— 

26 


302 


ALONE. 


quiet as death!” ^^Tbis is improper! irrational”^ said she, 
severe! j, to herself. T need repose and steadiness of nerve — 
there are watchers with him.” But she would not go back to 
her room. She went, instead, to the parlor. The hall-lamp 
burned all night; and setting open a door, and unclosing a 
shutter, to dissipate the darkness, which suffocated her, as a 
thick pall, she stretched herself upon a sofa. She slumbered 
and dreamed — visions, like her waking fancies. She was in Mr. 
Bead’s chamber; writing to Carry, at her far window; — the 
door swung back, and his wife glided in. With a gesture of 
silence to her, she passed to his bedside, and poised a knife above 
his heart ! Ida strove to -scream — to move — ^but her mighty 
efforts only shifted the scene — did not awaken her. He was 
dead; and his friends had come to the funeral. They thronged 
the room where his corpse lay in its costly coffin; and the 
carriages, headed by the hearse, grated upon the pebbled gutter. 
The undertaker was tightening the silver screws — when, oh ! 
horror !. the lid was heaved up from within — crashing and 
splintering — and the dead sat upright ! The distorted features 
were Mr. Ashlin’s, — the yell, as he tossed his arms aloft, — Mr. 
Bead’s. << I will not die 1” She was in the centre of the apart- 
ment ; the cold beads dripping from her forehead, and her hair, 
dank and heavy, upon her face and neck. She put it back, and 
listened. The silence drove by her in waves — throbbed with 
the the beatings of her heart. Hark ! it was not all a dream ! 
the pawing of hoofs rang upon the stones. The moon had set ; 
and the lamp was brighter than the starlight. She had the 
presence of mind to creep to that side of the window hidden by 
the shutter, and looked out. A carriage was at the door — in 
appearance like the doctor’s." He had been summoned — the 
sick man was worse Something light and white sailed past her 
window, from overhead; as it fluttered to the ground, a tall 
figure stepped from the vehicle, and caught it to his bosom. 
The apparition of the Arch-Fiend himself would not have 
shaken Ida, as did that manly form. She was awake ! A 
stealing step fell, softly as a snow-flake, upon the floor above^ — 
she heard it. With the speed of light, she flew to the front 
door — locked it — to that at the other extremity of the passage 
—hid both keys beneath the cushion of the hall-sofa, and back 


ALONE. 


303 


again to the street entrance, as Mrs. Read, dressed for travelling, 
had her foot upon the lowest stair. The fugitive leaned against 
the wall for support, faint with the terrors of detected guilt. 

<< Back !” said Ida — her cheek bloodless — he eyes flashing liv- 
ing fire. << False to your word ! false to your sex ! I will save 
you from public disgrace ! Back ! I say 

Ngt while I live I” was the answer. 

And you cross this threshold over my body I” cried the girl, 
passionately. « Oh I shame ! shame ! you — the pride and idol 
of your family and your husband ! that you should break their 
hearts and disgrace his name !’^ 

<< It is not my name after I leave this — I shall forget and be 
forgotten. Let me go 

<< Forget ! forgotten ! you may ! a false woman can forget the 
mother who reared her ! but the stain upon them ! your tears, 
nor his blood can cleanse it \” 

You are mad \” said Mrs. Read, regaining her composure. 
«You cannot stop me. My home is in another land. Why 
do you talk of disgrace ? the brutal dotard I fly from, will unfas- 
ten my legal fetters, and then* I shall live I the life for which 
my Creator destined me I” 

You speak your Creator’s name ! trampling upon His laws 
— His curse hanging over you ! Oh ! I entreat you, by a 
mother’s prayers — for the sake of your old father, tottering 
upon the verge of the grave — in the name of your honorable 
and loving brother, not to expose your design ! You shall 
not — you cannot go; the doors are locked — call for assistance 
from those who are without, and I will alarm the household. 
To-morrow your name will be trumpeted at the corner of every 
street. Ha ! that cry ! they have discovered all ! Too late ! 
too late ! but no ! — ” She tore ofF the cloak and bonnet, and 
threw them into a corner, as Sarah rushed down the steps. 

« Mistress ! Miss Ida ! for the Lord’s sake, come ! Master is 
dying!” 

A cry from Josephine pierced their ears. Ida forgot her 
companion, but she reached the chamber with her. Writhing, 
convulsed, screaming, he was wrestling with the Destroyer; 
the disease had grappled his heart. Mrs. Read sank upon her 
kuces, as blasted by a thunderbolt ; Josephine shrieked in help- 


804 


ALONE. 


less dismay ; Ida was wrought up to too high a pitch, to think 
of self. 

Where is John 2” she cried. Here ! run for Dr. Ballard I 
Mr. Read is ver^ ill ! Call for Mr. Talbot as you come back. 
Fly r 

He was down stairs while she was speaking. Why, Miss 
Ida, the key is not here 

She ran for it, unlocked the door, and pushed him out. A 
man stood in the shade of the porch, whom John did not per- 
ceive, in his rapid egress } but he seized Ida’s hand, as she would 
have shut him out. 

Helen 

Mrs. Read’s husband is dying, Mr. Ashlin !” 

Good heavens I” 

The bolt had shot into its place, ere he could say more. 

All the accompaniments of the last agony, of which Ida had 
ever heard, read or conceived, were realized in this struggle ; — 
the blackening features, drenched with sweat, the starting eye, 
the twitching muscles, the death-rattle, — the soul was tearing 
through the clay receptacle : yet for two hours the awful conflict 
was protracted. 

Morning! a sheet covered the rigid, motionless limbs and 
countenance, telling in death, of suffering ; and there were solemn 
steppings and stifled whispers through the house; and crape 
waved from the door, where the traitorous friend had waited, at 
night, for the dead man’s wife. 

Mrs. Read was borne to her chamber in hysteric convul- 
sions, and continued raving and swooning all day — attacking, 
in tigress fury, every one who approached her, excepting Ida. 
Her she would not suffer to quit her sight. Holding her 
hands in a frantic grasp, she poured forth such tales as made 
her heart ache : of warm Spring evenings, when the air was 
laden with sweet-briar scent, and the young moon was swimming 
in the pale blue sky, and the star of love shone upon them — 
an eye of light — from the blushing west, and he sung to 
her — poetry ascending from his heart as perfume from the 
flowers — songs, upon whose memory she lived, in the winter of 
his absence. “But” — and the deep wells of her eyes were 
black with anguish, “ her heart died, and dissolution came not 


ALONE. 


305 


to the body — would that it had I and the thought of the past 
was a yawning abyss, like the abode of the lost, from which 
arose hot, poisonous simoons and tormenting spirits. The world 
brought incense and gaudy offerings, and friends their best trea- 
sures, but it closed not — and she resolved, by self-immolation, 
to shut the chasm ; by an irrevocable sacrifice, to seal it forever. 
The effort was idle — she sold soul and body for nought. He 
came, and turned her face to the Future. His heart had 
wavered, but returned to its allegiance. She was his, by an 
earlier, holier tie than her loathed tyrant’s ; — away in the sunny 
land of their youthful dreams, they would live, unmolested by 
memory or care. She clung to duty, until her husband drove 
her from him with a curse ; to a brother’s love,— and he painted 
that brother’s hatred of him, and threatened to see her no 
more; — and by the specious names of << soul-dictates,” and 
the religion which enjoins truth, and condemns hypocrisy,” 
gained her promise. The hand of the Almighty interfered ! 

Ida shut up her tears, and reasoned and plead with her; 
praying inwardly for her comfort, and that her own mind and 
nerves might not fail her. She rested the maniac’s head upon 
her breast— bathed the beating temples, and pressed her cool 
lips to the parched ones, working with pain — beseeching her, 
with every endearing epithet, to rest and forget. But the lava 
crust was heaving ; and the long-repressed flood spread over 
it in fast, seething streams. The June twilight was on the 
earth — as she had described those of years agone ; and in calming 
tones, she bade Ida << sing.” 

<< What shall I sing?” 

Of love and faith and hope.” 

The exhausted girl rallied her strength, and the sweetest of 
written hymns seemed whispered to her spirit. 

^ Oh ! Thou, who driest the mourner’s tear, 

How dark this world would be, 

If pierced by sins and sorrows here. 

We could not fly to Thee ! 

‘ The friends, who in our sunshine live. 

When winter comes, are flown; 

And he, who has but tears to gve. 

Must weep those tears alone. 

26 * 


306 


ALONE. 


^But Thou wilt heal that broken heart, 

Which, like the plants that^throw 
Their fragrance from the wounded part— 

Breathes sweetness out of woe, 

'When joy no longer soothes or cheers. 

And e’en the hope that threw 
A moment’s sparkle o’er our tears, 

Is dimmed and vanished too; — 

' Oh I who could bear life’s stormy doom, 

Did not thy wing of love. 

Come, brightly waiting through the gloom. 

Our peace-branch from above ! 

Then sorrow, touched by Thee, grows bright, 

With more than rapture’s ray. 

As darkness shows us worlds of light 
We never saw by day.’” 

The head weighed upon her arm, she did not withdraw it. 
Scarcely breathing herself, she listened to the regular respiration, 
that said the distempered brain was locked rn forgetfulness. 
One — two — three hours — and a cold lifelessness succeeded to 
the smart and aching suspended circulation had first produced, 
a torpor, creeping to her shoulder — affecting her whole body ; 
but she would not terminate that blessed slumber. A fieet step 
ascended the stairs, — it did not belong to any of the household, 
yet was not strange. A knock — which she could not answer — 
the bolt was cautiously drawn. 

Helen I” said her brother’s voice. 

The hush-sh-sh !” silenced him, but he entered. The moon 
revealed the dark and white forms upon the bed. 

Your sister sleeps!” said Ida, under her breath. beg 
you to retire — she. must not see you. Oh I go !” for she was 
awaking. 

Ida I” said Mrs. Read ; “ what am I doing here ? Oh ! mercy ! 
I remember 1” 

Peace ! peace I” and with gentle violence, Ida forced her 
back to the pillow. You are safe and well now.” 

She was still for a minute. Whom were you speaking to 
when I awoke ?” 

Some one opened the door, and I did not wish you dis- 
turbed.” 

It was a servant, then ? I dreamed Richard had come. Oh ! 
if he should !” 


307 


ALONE. 

< Do you want us to send for him 

ti Never 

« But the fatigue of travelling rapidly over so great a distance 
will be too much for your parents. Some of your friends ought 
to be with you.’' 

But not Kichard ! any one else !” 

Ida was perplexed. He would insist upon seeing her, as 
soon as he heard that she was awake ; — they must meet in the 
morning, and the shock then might unfit her to endure the 
trials of the day; yet to tell her now, appeared cruel and 
unnecessary 

“You have not eaten to-day — ^you will take some nourishment 
if I bring it r 

“ Don’t leave me !” 

“ Only for a little while. Promise me to be good and quiet, 
until I can run down stairs and back.” 

“ Only do not stay — I am afraid to be alone.” 

Richard was pacing the hall with a troubled air. “How is 
she ?” he asked. 

“ More composed.” 

“ May I go up ?” 

“ It pains me to deny you, but she can see no one, at pre- 
sent.” 

“ This is extraordinary. Miss Ida. We know that there is not 
ground for this excessive grief, and Helen has not miss-ish 
nerves. What ails her?” 

His frown commanded her to reply, explicitly. 

“You do not reflect how sudden Mr. Read’s death was, Mr. 
Copeland. It was an alarming event to us all. After awhile, 
your sister will receive you. She does not know that you are 
here ; — her mind has wandered all day ; and I deemed it safest 
not to agitate her. Trust me to do all in my power for her and 
you.” 

“ I do !” 

Mrs. Read remained comparatively tranquil, saying little, 
except to supplicate Ida not to leave her. 

“ You are better — are you not ?” inquired the latter, stroking 
her brow. 

“ Yes — easier, and more quiet.” 


808 


ALONE. 


r find your brother has been sent for/^ she pursued 
He has come ejaculated Mrs. Read. << Oh ! what shall 
I do ? what shall I do?'' 

It is unavoidable ; — ^you must meet — why delay it ?" 

Oh ! he will kill him ! he said he would, if he ever spoke 
to me again !" 

More perplexity ! Ida staggered under it. Her ingenuousness 
pointed to the straightest, as the best road. The guilty mind 
would never be unburdened without confession ; but there was 
solid rock, underlying the foamy flow of Richard's character. 
When his distrust of Ashlin did not amount to a defined con- 
viction, he had said, that he << dared not see him" — and she 
recalled^his meaning, — ^^If he crosses my path again!" The 
dilemma was fearful — a life of concealment to one, murder to 
the other. ,Mrs. Read's consternation redoubled on perceiving 
hers. << What shall I do ? oh I if I could die 1" she moaned, 
tossing from side to side. Ida spoke in accents of command 
— representing the unhappiness she would experience in her 
intercourse with her deceived brother ; the watchfulness, and 
subterfuges, and the misery of accepting a love she had for- 
feited ) and on the other hand, the remorse of the murderess ; 
the blood of another soul clogging hers ; the public ignominy — 
but this was barely touched upon. 

Yet sin unconfessed to man, is not always unrepented of to 
God said she. 

Can you resign this base-hearted man, and devote your life 
to an endeavor to repair — ^you cannot of yourself, expiate your 
offences against your Maker and your fellow creatures ?" And 
the haughty, hardened woman bent before the simple majesty 
of truth and feeling, md solemnly vowed herself ready for her 
work. 


ALONE. 


309 


CHAPTEK XXV I. 

PiCHARD was to take his sister home; and Ida was busily 
assisting her to pack her trunks, the day after the funeral, when 
Josephine sent to request an audience. She ordered the ser- 
vants out of the room as she came in, and without preamble, 
entered upon her subject. 

You two have been confederates in many amusing schemes. 
Wedded spirits at sight, you flattered yourselves that you coun- 
terfeited indifference successfully. But not to me — my fair 
intriguers ! You,*'Miss Boss, were wilfully imprudent. I foiled 
your manoeuvres to entrap Morton Lacy, the man you loved; — 
you owe the disappointment, from which you will never recover, 
to me. You were unwary to oppose me a second time. And 
for you — ^lovely and inconsolable widow ! your downfall was 
decreed from the moment we met. I poisoned that old man^s 
mind against you. He weakly tried to repel doubt — to confide 
— the fool ! in your love — but the venom was subtle — certain ! 
1 overheard your first interview with your recreant lover — 
marked, step by step, your reconciliation, and furthered it when 
I could ; — I saw your trepidation when your brother's arrival 
menaced an expos6} and compelled John afterwards to a con- 
fession of the warning he transmitted, and the reply, ^ on 
account of a friend’s danger !’ That < friend’ is in imminent 
danger now ! The cessation of his visits did not mislead her, 
who dogged you in your walks, and saw him by your side. 1 
was awake the elopement night, — saw your signal, and heard 
the theatrical dialogue in the hall, rehearsed for the benefit 
of eaves-droppers, to clear the skirts of your accomplice, when 
your flight should be discovered. Pah ! a child could see through 
it ! a remarkable coincidence that Miss Boss should select a par- 
lor for a dormitory, and arouse, just in season to confront you at 
the door ! It was a scene, — as the play-bills have it — « for one 
night only.’ Your plan proved abortive ; death has left you as 
free as a divorce would have done; and when the <days of 
mourning are ended,’ you think to marry, and the public be in 


310 


ALONE. ' 


blissful ignorance that this measure was in contemplation before 
your husband’s decease. Idiot! is this the revenge I have 
worked for? Your swain is yet in town; — act out your plot. 
You need not go to Cuba — the laws of Virginia do not forbid 
the bans. If, however, your saint-like confidante reprobates 
< indecent haste,’ my game is nevertheless sure. I give you to- 
day and to-night for deliberation and escape. At the end of 
twenty-four hours, if you are in this house, your hot-blooded 
brother shall hear the interesting facts, of which I have pre- 
sented a summary; — I have spoken, and I never repent!’* 

Her auditors had not moved hand or foot, since she began to 
speak ; and after she had gone, they gazed at each other in the 
same dead silence. Mrs. Read’s stony despair revived Ida’s 
energies. 

I am lost I” she said, in a hollow tone. She put by the 
garment she held, and seated herself, with folded arms. 

You are not I” 

She ^ never repents !* ” 

<< Grod grant she may, before it is too late I” said Ida, looking 
upward ; but I do not rely upon her relentings for your deliver- 
ance. We must consider. Bear up, and remember your vow!” 

But her own heart sank. Contrivance and expedient presented 
themselves, — all inadequate to the emergency. 

Are you willing to brave Richard’s wrath, if it affects only 
yourself?” she asked. 

I am ! to the shedding of my blood. Your face brightens ! 
Is there any hope ?” 

<< Iniquity defeats itself !” said Ida devoutly. « The Helper 
of the tempted will provide a means of escape. Have we not 
time, and the knowledge that he is in the city, and liberty to 
communicate with him? Write him a warning, and 2i. Jinal 
farewell; — he must fly for his life — he will do it ! The traitor 
is seldom brave !” she said inwardly. 

Mrs. Reed’s nerveless fingers dropped the pen. 

^^I cannot !” 

f(You must !” said Ida, authoritatively. ^^His life — yoiir 
peace, depend upon it. Write ! I will dictate.” 

The note was short and imperative. If the hand quivered, 
the heart that indited did not. 


ALONE. 


311 


Take comfort said Ida, sealing it. 

<< How will you send it said Mrs. Read, whom grief and 
shame had robbed of mind and fortitude. 

I will carry it myself.^^ 

Oh ! not you ! what will be said V’ 

“ Trust me. If Josephine has emissaries, so have I. I will 
not compromise myself or you. I was cut out for a conspirator, 
and to keep up the character, you must disguise me. My 
appearance on the street so soon after the — yesterday, will 
excite remark. Ah ! this thick veil, and that black mantle, 
will serve my purpose. Now, would you know me 
Never — but dear Ida — 

But repeating “ Take comfort Ida kissed her, and went 
out. She tripped across the back yard, under shelter of the 
buildings, unlatched the gate, and was safely in an alley, bisect- 
ing the square, and parallel with the street upon which the 
house was built. She walked briskly, thinking over her plan. 
As in Lynn’s case, Charley was her aim ; but she was not *so 
sure now of his co-operation. It was a delicate and dangerous 
matter ; — would he be a blind tool ? confidence was not to be 
thought of. With his nice notions of propriety, would he take 
a note from her to Mr. Ashlin, of whose character she had heard 
him speak disparagingly. This is foolish !” she interrupted 
herself — << he must 1” and she was conscious that this word 
from her, carried with it an authority few had the hardihood to 
resist. 

John Dana was in the store, but he did not know her, and 
sent a clerk forward. 

I wish to see Mr. Dana, sir.” 

She raised her veil as he responded to the call. 

<< Ida ! my dear child ! I should never have recognised you !” 

(( I did not design you should. My errand is with Charley — 
is he in ?” 

In the counting-room. What is the matter ?” 

« With me ? Nothing, sir; — a state secret. He is my Vizier.” 

“Very well!” said he, smiling. “Walk this way.” He 
pushed aside the baize door, and Ida thought she should faint, 
as Richard Copeland was discovered talking with Charley. John 
also retreated. 


312 


ALONE. 


He is not alone he said, “ I will call him out/' 

‘^Not while Mr. Copeland is here!” she faltered. “Oh! I 
would not have him see me I” 

“ Ida !” 

“ He must not see me, Mr. Dana !” 

“ Then I will hide you — shall I ?” He took her to the end of 
a counter, piled to the* ceiling with goods; gave her a tall stool, 
and bade her “ rest awhile.” 

Ida was ashamed of her perturbation, and heartsick of the 
feints and concealments her nature revolted at ; — all the conse- 
quences of another’s errors. 

Charley and Richard entered the store. “ You had better 
say you will go,” said the latter. “ It is insufferably stupid ; — 
staying here this weather.” 

“I don’t know whether lean get off;” answered Charley. 
“ We’ll see.” 

His brother directed him to Ida. He was astonished to see 
her. 

“ But you can never be unwelcome.” 

“ Cela dipend said Ida, “ I sue for a favor.” 

“ Consider it granted.” 

“ That will not do. Can you perform my bidding, without 
asking questions ?” 

“ I am not inquisitive ; and I depend upon your discretion.” 

“ Then, will you deliver this letter immediately V* 

His countenance changed. Ida lifted her finger. 

“I have promised,” he replied; “but Ida — if you were my 
sister, I would not be the bearer of this !” • 

“ Charley !” 

“ I do not say it to hurt yeur feelings, but I know men, and 
this man, better than you do. This is not your handwriting. 
My fear is that you may be tampered with — not your integrity — 
but that designing people may impose upon your credulity.” 

“ I thank you sincerely for your consideration, but I act with 
my eyes open, and conscientiously believe that what I demand 
is actually necessary. I dictated that note. Will you oblige 
me now ?” 

“ Unhesitatingly.” 

“Be sure you give it, at once, to him. I cannot explain. 


ALONE. 813 

I may never do it, perhaps. One thing more. Where does 
Mr. Copeland want you to go ? and when 

<< To the country, to-morrow ; a tite-d-tete drive out of town ; 
a dinner at a tavern ; and spend the day in the woods, gunning.” 

“ Go, please ! I have a special reason for asking it — and 
start early.” 

More mysteries !” 

<< The last I shall ever annoy you with, Charley.” 

<< Enough ! if possible you shall be obeyed. I trust you, Ida — 
not one of the other parties concerned. By the way,” he added, 
putting on his hat, Lacy passed through the city yesterday ; 
stopped but an hour, and left his regrets and respects for you. 
He would have called, but for the circumstances of the family.” 

I should have been happy to see him,” said Ida, very natu- 
rally. Was his sister with him ? how is her health ?” 

Not improved. They contemplate a sea-voyage. I heard 
a queer report about him the other day.” They were at the 
store-door, and Ida did not lower her veil, although the light was 
glaring. Charley was scrutinising her from the corners of his 
eyes, and she was aware of it. 

I donH credit it he said. They say he is engaged to be 
married to Miss Arnold.” 

Ida smiled. « Why do you discredit it ?” 

Why I hear the girl is a flirt ; she is pretty, but I don’t 
relish the match. Besides, to be frank, I had a private opinion 
that—” 

That he was engaged to me !” flnished Ida, laughingly. 

Your shrewdness is at fault for once, Charley. I have known 
of his engagement ever since last summer — almost a year.” 

« How did you hear of it ?” 

From himself.” ** 

All right then, I suppose Charley reluctantly conceded. 
« I’ll be hanged if I don’t believe it’s all wrong !” he muttered, 
as he walked down the street. Ida did not mutter or sigh, on 
her way home. She cheered Mrs. Bead’s drooping spirits by 
reporting their case in excellent hands, and the happy Providence 
which appeared likely to befall them in Bichard’s projected 
jaunt. A day is as precious to us, at this juncture, as if its 
minutes were diamonds,” said she. 

27 


314 


ALONE. 


Withdrawing to her chamber, she wept long and sadly. If 
I could only have seen him for one hour I one minute ! Oh ! I 
shall never be free — never forget ! Can I censure poor Helen, 
when I am myself so weak ? for it is sin to love him, the pro- 
mised husband of another I” 

An hour — and she was with her dejected charge, busy and 
cheerful — yet so thoughtful, so sympathetic, that the repentant 
wanderer blessed her as a heavenly messenger of compassion 
and goodness 

Ida was dressing in the morning, when she received a note 
from Charley. 

« Mr. A decamped yesterday afternoon, servants and 

baggage — it is said not to revisit these parts shortly. I do not 
know whether this much discussed Hegira is, in any way, attri- 
butable to your billet, but write, in the supposition, that the fact 

may not be uninteresting. Mr. C and myself are on the 

point of starting upon our ride ; — return to-night. 

In haste, yours, 

Charley.^^ 

Ida smiled scornfully. “ The caitiff ! I said the false were 
seldom brave 

She sent the note to Mrs. Read. Rachel brought up an 
answer. <<Y6u are my guardian ange^Mt said. << The God 
you love and serve, may reward you — I never can. I shall 
spend this day alone. Richard must hear the truth, and I 
should be his informant — ^not that miserable girl, who would 
gloat upon the sight of his grief and amazement. I shall write 
him everything. Pray for me 

Towards evening, Rachel, as the only trustworthy bearer, was 
dispatched to Richard's hotel with the letter. Mrs. Read had 
expended her moral courage in the execution of this mortifying 
duty. She passed a wretched night — a prey to agonizing anti- 
cipations — imagining Mr. Ashlin's return ; his being overtaken ; 
the death of one or both ; Richard's desertion of her, or that her 
family would disown her. Ida stayed with her, but her condo- 
lences and sanguine predictions were futile. 

You do not know Richard !" was Mrs. Read’s invariable 
answer. 


ALONE. 


. 315 


He appeared at the hour for departure, and without coming in, 
sent to inquire if she was ready. Ida supported the half-swoon- 
ing woman down stairs. Richard was in the porch. He saluted 
her slightly — his sister, not at all j— his face so gloomy and 
stern, Ida dared not accost him. Josephine was less timorous, 
or had a stronger incentive. She walked boldly to the door. 

Mr. Copeland, can you spare me a minute of your valuable 
time ? I have a word to say to you.^^ 

He wheeled upon her with a withering sneer. << I am admon- 
ished of the purport of your communication. Miss Read, and my 
regret is only second to yours, that the indulgence of your ami- 
able penchant for bloodshed is inevitably postponed by the flight 
of our chivalrous friend. I give you credit for having acted in 
perfect consonance with the finest feelings of your soul. Permit 
me to express the hope that the consummation we mutually 
desire, is not very remote — that the << transgressor may be 
rewarded according to his works — and while this is the burden 
of your prayers, I would have you remember that I shall put up 
a like petition with regard to yourself V* 

Mrs. Read strained Ida to her breast silently, and the hot tears 
fell fast upon her cheek. She tendered her hand to Josephine. 
It was disdainfully rejected. 

<< Farewell, Mr. Copeland said Ida, holding out her hand. 

He clasped it, and inclined his head, as in adoration. It is 
well,^^ he said, in an under tone, « that I have met you. You 
have preserved me from total ' abnegation of female truth. 
Thank heaven that you have but a physical resemblance to your 
sex!’^ He closed the carriage-door upon his weeping sister, 
mounted his horse, bowed to his saddle-bow to the wave of Ida’s 
handkerchief, and galloped oflf. 

Anna Talbot was to stay with Josephine until the necessary 
legal formalities should leave her free to select a home; and 
Mrs. Dana claimed Ida. She needed rest and nursing. This 
week of agitation and wearing fatigue, was the forerunner of a 
fever, which might have resulted fatally, had she retained her 
old quarters. There was nothing at Mr. Dana’s to quicken 
memory into action upon unpleasant subjects; no darkened 
chambers, or everburning tapers ; no hurryings from room to 
room/ with the suppressed bustle, that indicated a renewal of 


316 


ALONE. 


the patient’s sufferings. These were sights and sounds painfully 
familiar to her of late. She lay in an airy apartment ; the light 
tempered, not excluded; with books and flowers, and if she 
wished, the happy children to amuse her ; and when she started 
from sleep, with a groan or shriek sounding through her head, 
her eye fell upon the placid face of her hostess, smiling tenderly 
to dispel her alarms; or Elle’s cherry mouth said, in the flute- 
like accents, so like her aunt’s, You’re just dreaming, cousin 
Ida !” She left her bed, but her tottering steps would not bear 
her far ; and J ohn Dana carried her in his strong arms every 
evening to the parlor, where was Charley, disposing, with the 
skill of an accomplished nurse, the pillows that heaped her sofa. 
She was thankful for the debility that made her the recipient of 
these tokens of true affection. They loved her ; she no more 
doubted this, than she questioned her attachment to them. One 
day she appeared thoughtful, and Mrs. Dana remarked upon it 
in private to her coadjutors. She was afraid it arose from some 
saddening reminiscence, or mistrust of the future ; Charley 
must enliven her.” And Charley, if he did not bring mirth, 
eliminated the caged troubler. 

She “ had heard,” she said, << that the law required her to • 
choose a guardian.” 

True ;” said Charley. 

“ Is there any specified time ? has it expired ?” 

month hence will do; although Miss Dead has made her 
choice. ” 

Ah ! whom V* 

Mr. Talbot, the elder. Easy soul ! he has not a thought of 
the pickle he is in.” 

Ida was more serious. Will you say the same of my 
selected protector.” 

Probably — ^you being a facsimile of her.” 

May I choose whom I please ?” 

« Undoubtedly.” 

<‘Will it be a very troublesome office?” 

<^Hum-m-m! I should say not. Some care — some respon- 
sibility that is a mere song, though, as your schooling is done, 
and you are a moderately discreet young lady.” 


ALONE. 317 

« Will you ask your brother to act ? I prefer him above all 
other men in the universe/^ 

<< Why not do it yourself? he will not object.” 

<< He might be influenced by my anxiety, and assume the 
task because it will make me happy — want him to make an 
unprejudiced decision.” 

« I will look him up said Charley. 

They re-entered together; and John bowed his tall form to 
kiss the flushing cheek. “You will not seem more like a daugh- 
ter, when you are my ward, than you do now, Ida.” 


318 


ALONE. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

It was chinquapen season; and a grove of ^<bushes^^ on the 
outskirts of the Poplar-grove plantation resounded with the 
jocund voices of a nutting party. The green beards rolled back 
their white lips, in a smile, saying as plainly as smile could say, 
for the shining brown treasures— Come and take us P As a 
loaded upper limb was roughly shaken, and screams of laughter 
and pretended fright arose from the group, upon whose heads the 
hurtling shower descended, our friend Charley might be seen, 
sauntering away, in suspicious unconcern ; — Ellen Morris was 
weaving her gay-coloured meshes around Mr. Euston’s susceptible 
heart, and Mary Truman, with Charley, as aid, was pioneer to a 
dozen children of assorted sizes. One couple had strayed to the 
edge of the grove, where, from the brow of a hill, they over- 
looked a wide expanse of landscape. The lady, whose bloom was 
heightened by exercise, or some uther cause, ,was profoundly 
occupied in sifting chinquapens — taken, a handful at a time, 
from her basket — into the same again. Her cavalier was speak- 
ing low and impressively 

“You cannot argue indifference from my delay. I was ready 
for this declaration a year ago; but you were not; and while I 
left you in no doubt as to my intentions, I wished you to have 
ample time and opportunity for making up your mind. I have 
not the vanity to hope to allure by personal attractions or showy 
qualities; but if the disinterested love of a manly heart can win 
your regard, I may trust that my offering will not be scorned. 
I visited you last winter, and saw that you were not happily 
situated. A more hasty lover would have spoken then : — I would 
not have your discontent with one home, influence your decision 
in my offer of another — would not have you self-deceived ; for 
your happiness is dearer to me than mine. But now, that you 
are translated to a sphere, in which you are appreciated and 
beloved, your will is untrammelled by the restrictions of a stern 
guardian - free to move, without the goad of desire to escape a 
disagreeable lot. I have been very patient, Miss Ida."' 


ALONE. 


319 


He had — and she knew nothing of him but what was gene- 
rous and honourable. His persevering attachment was guaranty 
of its depth. Pleasant as her life was now, the death of her 
guardian, or his widower-hood — (she thought of such chances, in 
these days of death and change — ) would cast her out upon the 
world — alone and homeless as before. She had all the woman’s 
longing to be paramount in one heart, — the sun and attraction 
of a home. She could give her suitor but a sisterly regard, at 
present; but she had been told that this culminated in a calm 
affection, lasting through life — mighty in death. The passionate 
idolatry of earlier days was conquered by religion; — she believed 
that it had subsided into friendship ; — its hopelessness impelled 
her to forget it — ^how more effectually than in another love? Her 
colour fled, as it ever did, before powerful emotion, and the 
fingers, while they went on, burying themselves in the glossy 
brown heap, were icy cold. She must reply — she looked up' — 
not in the intelligent face — handsome in its pure fervor of devo- 
tion — but beyond — to where the blue sweep of the hills lay, 
graceful and light, against the rosy horizon; and she gazed, until 
her dark eyes were dilated and moveless, and her companion, 
struck by their expression, looked to the same spot. He saw 
but the hills, and the heavens, spanning them in crimson 
glory — she verily thought, as she stood, rooted to the earth, in 
the dumb agony of memory, and recoiling at the fate, her tongue 
had almost sealed, — that she beheld — as if the folds of that 
glowing canopy were drawn aside — the form and features of her 
first — what she knew now, was to be her only love ! — that look- 
ing back, from whatever height in life, she should see the 
remembered lineaments distinct, unaltered, stamped upon that 
part of the Past he had made radiant. 

<^Ida! do you never mean to marry?” inquired Charley, that ^ 
night. 

“ You gentleman say every girl will as soon as she has a good 
offer;” was the rejoinder. ^ 

Germaine is not an < eligible’ then ?” 

Who said anything about him ?” 

did. I am unable, by any system of ratiocination with 
which I am acquainted, to establish why a sensible, fancy-free 


320 


ALONE. 


lady should refuse a man, who is unexceptionable in morals, 
behaviour, education, appearance and prospects/^ 

What an array of recommendations ! what evidence have 
you that I have committed this egregious folly 

Yo|;ir quibblings — if nothing else. Deign to enlighten me 
as to motive— the act being granted. Why did you discard him V* 
Because I did not love him, Charley ' 

That is to the point ! now — why didn^t you love him?' 
Because I could not." 

<<Notsogood. Why couldn't you ?" 

Impertinent ! is love made to order ? As with a soda fount, 
have you but to twist a screw in the heart, and it bubbles up for 
any ‘ unexceptionable,' who prays for it in a flowery speech ?" 

<< Jumping the question again ! What is your ideal husband 
like?" 

<< He mu^t be my master 1" said Ida. « Mr. G-ermaine is kind 
and excellent — intelligent and gentlemanly; but my will would 
never yield to his. He would say — ^ Shall I?' and <will you?' 
in matters where his interests, no less than mine, were involved. 
My ideal says, gently, but decidedly — </ think' — will ?' " 

<< So our friend may ascribe his iJl-success to his lack of Blue- 
Beardishness ! Oh, woman ! thy name is caprice !" 

Ida had scanty faith in the reality of his wonder, but most 
of that expressed was genuine. Such a fine young man ! well- 
to-do in the world, and she so unprotected !" Carry had built 
many castles in the air, upon Ida's presupposed acceptance of 
her neighbor, and expostulated with her. 

<< Better a lonely, than a miserable life, dear Carry was 
the reply. « I have my Bible to direct me, — my Heavenly 
Father to lean upon. While I obey Him, He will not leave 
me friendless. As to the obloquy of old-maidism, I do not 
dread it." 

At the fall of the leaf, the town Danas returned home, and 
Ida slipped into her place in tl^ family, as though she had 
always constituted a part of it. The time winged happily and 
uneventfully along until Christmas. Dr. Carleton, Arthur and 
Carry were with them then, and another visitor, Ida's name- 
sake^ and the miraculous prodigy of Poplar-grove; — 3 , lovely 
babe, four months old; with its father’s hazel eyes, and the 


ALONE. 321 

transparent skin, and bright flossy curls of its beautiful 
mother. 

On New Year’s eve, the older members of both families col- 
lected in the parlor, to greet the commencement of the new 
cycle. Ida occupied an ottoman, between her guardian and 
Charley; chatting, with girlish vivacity, to the latter. Mrs. 
Dana was in the opposite corner, in the shadow of the mantel, 
conversing with her father ; but her voice shook at times, and 
her eyes wandered constantly to her young friend. Ida did not 
notice this, nor the sadness that tinged her guardian’s fatherly 
look, as he smoothed her chestnut hair for a long time, musingly. 
She did not suspect he was thinking of her. He smiled, as she 
threw up her eyes to his face, and rested her head against the 
arm of his chair; but it was a fleeting light— the uncertain 
enjoyment of a pleasure, whose loss one anticipates. Finally he 
he spoke. 

Ida ! will you give your attention for a minute T* 

For an hour, if you wish it, sir. I am all ear.’ 

« You must be mouth, too — for there are questions for you to 
answer. Yesterday, in examining certain papers of Mr. Read’s, 
pertaining to the guardianship, I found a packet of letters, 
mostly from your mother — some from Mr. Grant, and one of 
yours — written after your illness at Sunnybank. You say 
therein, that it was your mother’s wish for you to take her 
place, as mistress of the establishment there, so soon, as in his 
judgment, you should be possessed of the ability; that there 
were plans laid off, but unfinished by her, whose completion she 
bequeathed to you; — and you enclose a schedule, which sur- 
prised me by the sound sense and foresight displayed in its 
provisions and items. You conclude by declaring your prepos- 
sessions for a country life, and the binding character of the duty, 
which you conceived was resting upon you. I referred to your 
mother’s letters. It is not for us to censure the dead, but it is 
amazing how Mr. Read could have slighted the desire, virtually 
conveyed in every one of them, viz. : that it should be optional 
with you, at what time after you had attained the age of eighteen, 
and remained single, you should return to a home, to which, she 
was assured conscience and affection would alike attract you. 
She describes yqjir strength of mind and purpose, when a child, 


822 


A I. 0 N E . 


as remarkable ; and says that she would not fear to entrust to 
you, the execution of any directions concerning the business she 
then superintended. My course is too plainly laid down for me 
to deliberate or waver. In a year, you will be of age; your 
judgment is as ripe now, as it will be then ; you are competent 
to control yourself, and your subordinates. It is for you to say 
whether you still consider it obligatory upon you, to anticipate 
your legal majority.^' 

There was a blank silence. Mrs. Dana alone, was not sur- 
prised, and she had most pending upon the verdict. Ida hid 
her face upon her guardian^ s arm. 

I would not trouble you needlessly, dear child he said, 
passing his hand over her dark locks ; else I would tell you 
how dear you were to us, before you lived with us ; — how doubly 
dear you are now. If personal feeling were the arbiter in this 
case, I would never have made the statement you have heard to- 
night ; and Jenny has not spoken, because foreseeing that her 
affection might outrun her discretion, I exacted a promise ot 
non-interference. Your home is here, dear Ida, as long as you 
choose to make us happy by your presence. I repeat — the deci- 
sion rests with you.” 

<< I do not know what to say. Determine for me, dear Mr. 
Dana.” 

“I may not, my child.” 

<< Carry ! Charley ! what ought I to do ?” 

Charley shook his head ; but Carry was not so prudent. Oh ! 
Ida ! your going will break sister’s heart ; a year bannot make 
much difference.” 

^‘If it is my duty at all, it is now, as much as then — is it 
not ?” asked Ida, of Charley. 

« I am afraid so ;” said he, seriously. 

<< Charley ! how can you !” exclaimed Carry. One would 
think you were willing to lose her ! You are young, Ida — there 
is no necessity for burying yourself alive, yet.” 

<<Have a care. Carry! John is right — she must decide;” cau- 
tioned Arthur. 

« One question, Ida,” said Charley, kindly. You have 
revolved this issue often in your mind, even since you have been 
with us — have you not ?” ^ ^ 


ALONE. 


323 


«Yes.^^ 

You said, a year ago, you felt bound to fulfil your motber^s 
wishes, and that your inclinations leaned the same way — how is 
it now ? There is the case in a nut-shell. 

« One hard to crack, nevertheless 'y' said Ida, with glistening 
eyes. << I love Sunnybank, and I have had misgivings that the 
indulgence I meet here, may spoil me for the active, self-denying 
life I must lead ; — for I have always looked forward to a resi- 
dence there, some time or other; — but I am so happy here. 
Still, Mr. Dana, I have a vast deal of surplus energy which ought 
to be employed. I am not working with all my might. Does 
this sound ungrateful V* 

« Not a bit of it V* struck in Charley^s assuring tones. It 
is not that you love Caesar less, but Kome more.^^ 

<< But it is so far !” objected Carry, — ^^and so out-of-the-way. 
Suppose you fall sick ! 0, brother John I it is heartless to 

send her off by herself V* 

<< She shall not go by herself. Carry. If she concludes to 
leave us, it must not be before Spring; then Jenny and I will 
go with her. If she is convinced, upon trial, that she is inade- 
quate to the enterprise, or dislikes it, we shall be too glad to 
have her back. Grant is a respectable man, and an intelligent 
farmer ; and she must secure a companion. You mentioned his 
sister-in-law, I think, Ida 

<< As to the distance,^^ said Charley, << If those snail-like 
fellows continue the railroad, as they say they will — it will pass 
within six miles of Sunnybank.^^ 

This was a ray of comfort ; yet Mrs. Dana burst into tears, 
and Carry threw her arms around Ida, sobbing bitterly, as she 
« feared she ought to go.^^ 

<< Carry! Jenny! you must not!’^ said Charley. She has 
done her duty — and should be encouraged. You are borrowing 
trouble upon interest. Who can tell what may happen before 
Spring? An earthquake, or the end of the world may stamp 
<Finis^ upon sublunary things, and you’ll be ashamed of your- 
selves for having anticipated evil.” 

He succeeded in calling up a smile, and Carry unintentionally 
effected a further diversion. “ Oh, Ida \” she sighed. “ If 
you had raarried^Ir. Germaine !” 


824 


ALONE. 


I am happier as it is, Carry/^ 

I move a postponement of the subject, sine die said 
Charley. We must welcome in the year with a song. Come 
to the piano, Carry. Ida, Arthur — come ! we want a quartette.^^ 
They learned to speak of the coming separation with compo- 
sure; but its shadow was upon all hearts, longer and blacker as 
the time drew nearer. Ida sometimes debated with herself 
whether she could be called to sever a relationship which had 
taken such hold of her inmost soul. She was not supine or 
useless; for the love a Christian’s virtues gain, is indirectly 
leading men to the Saviour; and every day she could animate 
some drooping spirit, or alleviate some woe, were it only a 
child’s. Yet she was not performing labors commensurate with 
her talents and energies ; she was upon the circumference of the 
wheel ; — Nature designed her for the centre and motive power. 
There was a satisfaction in having the matter settled. She 
had not the courage to introduce it herself ; but her guardian’s 
straight-forward summing-up and appeal had convinced her, and 
the rest of his hearers. A scheme, so uncommon, had opposers 
and despisers in abundance. Some honestly lamented her 
departure ; and many more insinuated at << family disagree- 
ments” and high-spirited young ladies.” She was << Quixotic” 
and ^^masculine,” said others, boldly; and there were benevolent 
friends who thought it a pity so much eloquence should be 
wasted and carried faithful reports to the cause of the commo- 
tion. Among the busiest in promulgating scandal, was Jose- 
phine Read, until she was taught caution by a scathing rebuke 
from Charley, inflicted publicly, in response to a sneer, not 
meant for his ears; and of the opposite party, Ellen Morris’ 
unobtrusive grief affected Ida sadly. They seldom spoke of 
Lynn; but there was a tacit understanding that his memory 
was the bond of their intimacy. Outwardly, Ellen was the 
same — only Ida knew that the spontaneity of her gaiety was no 
more, and that the most brilliant jets were forced up by a 
pressure, that would have destroyed the spring of most hearts. 
On the second anniversary of Lynn’s death, she came to invite 
Ida to a walk — showing a bouquet of spring flowers concealed 
in her veil. Divining their destination, Ida turned their steps, 
of her own accord, to the cemetery. The spring was forward ; 


ALONE. 


80 it had been the year he died ; hut its young blossoms were 
killed by the frost and snow which should have belonged to 
winter — and he perished with them ! The turf was green 3 the 
evergreen rose, creeping over the headstone, was full of glossy 
leaves and the violets upon his breast were budding. The girls 
knelt on either side of the grave ; trimmed away the dead twigs 
of the rose, plucked the sere leaves of the violet, and clipped the 
ragged grass — talking softly, as over a sleeping babe. Besides 
themselves, there were no visitors in the grounds ; and having 
deposited their offering upon the mound, they sat down. Ellen’s 
arm was encircling Ida’s waist, while one of the latter’s rested 
on the grave. 

<< I may not do that,” said Ellen, mournfully. « Although 
when it rains or snows at night, I weep to think how it beats 
upon him, and pine to shelter him with my arms, — when I am 
here — and I come often, Ida — secretly ! I see him dead — perhaps 
murdered by me — and I no more dare embrace that clay, as you 
are doing, than the murderer would touch the body of his 
victim, lest it should bleed afresh.” 

This is morbid regret, Ellen. I was his sister and confidante. 
You had nothing to do with his death; if you had never parted, 
the disease might have assailed him. The blight upon your heart 
is deadly enough, without increasing it by unmerited self-re- 
proach. Everything is so calm and sweet here, this afternoon, 
and I have such a consoling surety that he is happy ! The 
spirits of the loved return to earth — are hovering about us — 
present, although unseen. He may be with us.” 

<<< Do they love there still ?’ ” said Ellen. 

They do — with a love purged from selfishness and doubl- 
ings — perfect — pure! Oh! Ellen! the bliss and holiness of 
Heaven ! why do we love this world so well ?” 

They are loveless alike to me ; I have no hope or rest in 
either. When he was here, I loved this earth, because he was 
upon it; its charm has gone — and can I thank, or revere Him 
who bereaved me ?” 

My dear girl ! He smites to heal. In my short life, I have 
studied Ilis providences sufficiently to teach me that it is the 
wise Physician, as well as the Father, who takes away our 
hurtful delights, and rives our hearts. He waits now, Ellen, 

28 


32G 


A LONE . 


to infuse life — His life, into your fainting soul — to wind these 
severed cords about His loving heart. This patient, boundless 
love was our Lynn’s dying hope ; and you will never be com- 
forted until you accept it.” 

« It is easy to talk!” said Ellen, fretfully. <<You cannot 
understand a sorrow like mine.” 

The heart knoweth its own bitterness, Ellen, and my life 
has not been all sunshine. There are griefs, piercing and drying 
up the spirit — never revealed to man.” 

I know that. Is not my soul shrouded in sackcloth drinking 
wormwood and gall — when my body is bedizened in its finest 
array, and the sparkling wine reflecting the lying bloom, that 
says I am glad and gay ! I envied you your mourning dress as 
long as you wore it; and when he was named by the hypocrites 
who fawned upon him in life, I had to seem as unconcerned as 
they; you had no need to stifle your sighs, for he was your 
friend. I had denied him as my lover, while we were betrothed ; 
I cannot publish it now. There is but one restraint upon my 
despair. If, as you say, the spirits of beloved ones are with us, 
and he is among the blest, he must be grieved, — if they can 
grieve — that I contemn the Being he loves.” 

<< Ellen I this language is evidence that your chastisement is 
not wanton injustice. Whether he hears you or not, you grieve 
and insult your Maker by your mad words, the Saviour, to whom 
you are indebted for being and comforts and friends — who has 
loved you from the beginning. You knelt to a creature He had 
made ; He interposed the gate of death, to save you from the fate 
of the idolater, and you ask to spend your life in bewailing your 
affliction — in showing your adoration of perishable dust, and 
reviling your best Friend I Is this your gratitude ?” 

Ellen did not speak. Ida drew her closer. << My dearest 
girl!” she said, ^^I do not reprove you in my own name. I 
have been as guilty as yourself ; and it is in remembrance of 
the retribution which followed, I warn you — in remembrance of 
the love that forgave me, and bestowed peace and joy, in place 
of disquiet and mourning, that I entreat you — come to Jesus I” 

<< I cannot I your pleadings are water upon a rock. I have 
been thinking, as you were speaking, whether I cared to go to 
Heaven — and I painted it, gloriously beautiful, as holy men tell 


ALONE. 


827 


us it is — ^but without the love, my foolish vanity tempted me to 
sport with, when it was mine — for which I would imperil my 
soul now — and the Creator of that heaven, and its angels, and 
fair sights and music were delightless. Rather misery with 
Jiimy than every other joy without. Oh ! if he had known 
how I loved him \” 

Her head fell upon the tomb, and the tears rained upon the 
turf. Ida wept, too — but in pity. Ellen was perverse in her 
hopeless sorrow — her friend could only commit her to the tender 
mercy she had besought her to seek. 

“ If you knew how Our Father loves you both, dear Ellen V* 
she whispered, but there was no reply. 

It was a trial to say farewell to that grave. She had visited 
it ere the sods joined over it ; planted flowers there, and watered 
them with tears; had sat there at sunset, and watched the 
<< long, bright pomp^^ he used to love ; had learned there lessons 
of contentment and charity, and active usefulness, << while the 
day lasted.’^ Next to one other green heap, where the willow // 
shadows were dancing, this was the dearest spot on earth to 
her. She seemed brought so near to Lynn by the sight of it ; 
and as she had kissed his white brow in death, she pressed her 
lips to the marble, with a murmur of regretful fondness — 

Brother 


328 


ALONE. 


CH APTEE XXVIII. 

John Dana, his wife and little ones, attended Ida to^unny- 
bank. They arrived late at night, tired and sleepy j but their 
sunrise matins were caroled by Ida, as she sang a lively hymn 
in the breakfast-room, under the guest-chamber, She roamed 
briskly to and fro, rummaging side-boards and peeping into 
closets. 

« Jest like you used to do. Miss Ida T' said Aunt Judy. Law 
me ! this comes of faith. I allers said I should live to deliver 
up them keys into your hands. And you’ve come home for 
good, honey?” 

Yes, Aunt Judy — come to stay with, and take care of you. 
That’s ‘ for good,’ isn’t it ?” 

be sure I It’s a mighty ’sponsibility, honey !” 

“ She’ll have strength given her to bear it !” said Will, behind 
her. It’s time your biscuits were baking, Aunt Judy, and 
you’re talking about ’sponsibility !’^ 

<< I shall depend upon you. Uncle Will,” said Ida. The 
servants were easily controlled while mother’s influence was at 
work. How they will submit to one of my age and experience 
remains to be seen.” 

<< Mr. Grant keeps them tolerably straight, ma’am. I can’t 
say it’s exactly as ’twas in her time, but they’ll break in pretty 
easy, I reckon. An overseer, no matter how smart and good, 
aint a marster or mistis. We get our victuals and clothes, and 
look just the same, but there’s nobody to ride down from ‘ the 
house,’ after planting, and hoeing, and harvesting’s done, and 
say, well done, boys !’ and at night, when we, whose quarters 
are in the yard, come up, it’s so dark and lonesome, and still, 
and the doors and windows all shut, it makes us low-spirited — 
like ’twas no use to work — and Sunday — ^we feel it then !” 

“ So you are rather glad I am back again ?” 

‘‘ Glad ! mistis ! I couldn’t be more pleased if you was my own 
child ! We need you, ma’am ; we need you !” 

<< Still, as Aunt Judy says, it’s a great responsibility.” 


ALONE. 


329 


You’re one of the Lord’s lambs, mistis. He will provide.” 

He went out, and Ida caught up his last words, and through 
the dark nooks and reverberating galleries of the old house, 
sounded the refrain — 

‘His call we obey, like Abram of old, 

Not knowing our way, but faith makes us bold. 

For ’though we are strangers, we have a good guide, 

And trust in all dangers, the Lord will provide!”' 

She met her guests with a kiss, and a jingle of the key- 
basket, and seating them at table, poured out the coffee; refuting 
Mr. Dana’s objection that his was too sweet, by the Irish lady’s 
answer to a similar complaint from General Washington — 
Shure, and if ’twas all sugar, ’twouldn’t be too good for yer 
Honor !” — piled the children’s plates with buttered cakes — 
rattling all the while of her dignities, possessions and << ’sponsi- 
bility.” After finding a clean grass plat for the children’s play- 
ground, she challenged Mrs. Dana to- a stroll over the house 
and garden. It was an old-fashioned family mansion, rambling 
and picturesque ; some rooms wainscotted to the ceiling, and 
lighted by rows of narrow windows, with surprisingly small 
panes. These were chambers: the lower story, the parlour, 
dining-room, and the apartments appropriated to her mother and 
herself, were light, large, and finished in a more modern style. 
Mrs. Dana preferred the antique. The massive furniture suited 
them so well, and it was interesting to think of the generations 
they had known — what stories they would relate if the panelled 
oak could speak. 

With a Jittle variation, they would tell one of all,” replied 
Ida. They were born, suffered, joyed and died !” And she 
thought how she had gone through all, except the last, within 
these walls. The garden was ploughed up. There was no 
comeliness in it, but it was less desolate than when overgrown 
with weed. 

« The soil is fertile,” said Mr. Grant. << We shall have vege- 
tables worth showing this summer. Miss Ida. Mr. Dana sends 
his respects, and will you step into the parlour ? we would like 
to consult you.” 

Ida composed her face into a Malvolio expression of solemnity 
and conceit ; pompously apologised to Mrs. Dana, and obeyed. 

28 * 


S30 


ALONE. 


But the account books were shut, and her guardian was luxu- 
riating in an arm-chair and a cigar. 

Mr. Grant and myself have been investigating and comparing 
accounts, Ida,^^ he said ; “ and the result is highly creditable 
to him and those in his service. Without wearying you with 
particulars, I have set down the sums total here. You perceive 
that the crops have met the expenditures of the plantation ; and 
each year, the nett profits have surpassed those of the preceding , 
— a proof that your land is constantly improving. This, as I 
said, is to be attributed to Mr. Grant’s judicious management. 
Your servants are well fed and clothed, and the doctor’s bill 
trifling in its amount. Praise is also due to Mr. Read. I 
approve entirely of the investments he has made of the funds, 
left after the necessary disbursements for expenses. Your 
money is safe and not idle. You were fortunate in your stew- 
ards, and assume the control of an unincumbered estate, under 
most favorable auspices.” 

I am indeed grateful to Providence, and to them, sir. It 
is not my wish, however, to release you from jour guardianship. 
I cannot do it nominally, as yet, and after the law shall permit 
it, I shall still rely upon you for direction. A woman is not 
fitted to be a financier. It is a trespass upon your time and 
goodness, but I cannot endure that you should give me up.” 

‘‘Nor I, my child. You will never ask advice or assistance 
from mo in vain. If your measures are ill-advised, I shall 
oppose them, and forward your interest by every means in my 
power.” 

“ Thank you, sir. I was unjust to question this for an instant. 
You feared to weary me with particulars; — you have no other 
objection to my looking into them ?” 

“None, certainly.” 

She pored over the columns attentively, and her guardian 
felt his respect for her rising still higher, as the deep thought- 
fulness which had its home in the eyes and brow, slowly covered 
the face. It was no common mind speaking there — it was com- 
petent to its work. A gleam of pleasure shot across her counte- 
nance, as she concluded the examination. Dipping a pen into 
the standish, she sketched rapidly a calculation upon a sheet of 
paper, and spread it before Mr. Dana. 


ALONE. 


331 


I registered a vow, years ago, that my maiden enterprise, 
when I should come into office, should be the establishment of 
a charity school. You have there an estimate of the amount 
needed to put it into operation — not guess-work, but the actual 
sums I will have to expend for teacher’s salary, books and furni- 
ture, repair of the room, and a small remainder for contingent 
expenses. This knowledge I have gained by inquiry of those 
familiar with these things. I am confounded at the paltry total 
— I interpret that ^rch of the eyebrows,’^ she continued, laugh- 
ing, •* but before you cast any obstacle in my way, listen — dear 
Mr. Dana ! I have kept an ^ expense-book’ ever since I can 
recollect. During the first winter and spring of my going into 
society in Richmond, I spent more than that in dresses and 
ornaments — the two summers I passed with Carry, previous to 
her marriage, as much more, — for it was a fashionable country 
neighborhood, and in such, the passion for show and ostentation 
is not a whit less than in the city. The price .1 should pay for 
board elsewhere, will meet my personal expenses here ; I have 
no near relatives for whom to economise, and there are scores of 
children, growing up around me, destitute of education, except 
that bestowed gratis by poverty and vice.” 

“I commend your resolution, my daughter,” — this was his 
phrase of greatest endearment — ‘‘ but it is a weighty undertaking 
for a young person, and a woman. If commenced, it must be 
prosecuted vigorously, or it will do more harm than good. One 
session will hardly suffice for a beginning. This appropriation, 
which is a liberal deduction from your income, small as you 
deem it, is not for this year alone. Hitherto your affairs have 
prospered, but you may have reverses. A failure of crops, which 
not unfrequently happens to others, would embarrass you con- 
siderably.” 

I would draw upon my invested funds.” 

And if stocks fall, or a bank breaks 

And what is more probable than that all these misfortunes 
will crowd upon me at once, I may die!” said Ida, with per- 
suasive gravity, ^^and when my Heavenly Master demands the 
reckoning of my stewardship, I shall render in the plea, ‘ Lo ! 
here is Thy talent, hid in a napkin !’ He has given me — if 
not riches — more than a competency for my wants. It may not 


332 


ALONE. 


be worldly-wise, dear guardian, but it is Christian-like, to give 
of my present abundance, and trust that he will be as bountiful 
in time to come, as He has been until now/^ 

<< There’s sense and religion in that 1” commented Mr. Grrant, 
admiringly. 

<^He that giveth to the poor, lendeth to the Lord,” said 
Ida, smiling in her guardian’s face. << What think you of the 
security, Mr. Dana?” 

That your faith shames my caution. Assuming that the 
plan is feasible and prudent in its main points, let us descend to 
the minutiae — ^ Repairs of building’ — where is the room ?” 

Ida pointed from the window to a house in the yard. My 
father built it for an office — my mother used it as a lumber- 
room. The plastering has fallen, and the roof leaks, but Will 
tells me the plantation carpenter and bricklayer can put it in 
good order. They can make the desks and benches too.” 

<< < Books’ — this is the probable outlay, I suppose.” 

It is computed from a list of prices, furnished by a book- 
seller.” 

<< Now, last and most important — the teacher. Is it to be a 
girls’ or a boys’ school ?” 

For girls, mainly ; but small boys will be admitted. Large 
ones might be refractory to a lady.” 

You will have an instructress, then ? Where will she 
board ?” 

« Here. Shall I not have a spinster household ?” 

With Miss Betsey to matronise you. You will be fastidious 
in your selection, as she is to be a member of your family. Your 
provident brain has not picked her out, surely ?” 

You will laugh when I say that I have one in view ; but I 
am hesitating as to the propriety of making her an offer. I 
have no false pride to prevent me from engaging in honest 
labor ; but very sensible people, in other respects, are troubled 
with this weakness. Neither do I mean to term mine a ( charity 
school,’ in consideration for pride of a more commendable kind, 
which the parents may have. The teacher will be my equal 
and companion. Without interfering with her government, I 
shall be as well known to the pupils as herself ; if she is absent 
or sick, be her substitute; yet she may regard the situation as 


ALONE. 333 

too humble. Did you ever see a school -fellow of Carry’s named 
Emma Glenn, a modest, sweet-looking girl 

Glenn ! I cannot recall her. She is your choice ?” 

“Yes, sir. She is, like myself, an orphan. Anna Talbot 
awakened my sympathies for her, by relating how and where 
she saw her last summer. She is dependent upon her own 
exertions, and for two years has taught in the family of an 
uncle, for the miserable stipend — think of it, sir ! of fifty dollars 
a year ! for instructing six children, two of whom, sleep in her 
chamber ; and her position is uncomfortable from various other 
causes. She was universally beloved at school ; and her stand- 
ing for scholarship, unquestionable. Can it be more humiliating 
to labor as my colleague, than the despised beneficiary of a 
niggardly relative 

“ I imagine not,” he rejoined, smiling. “ What is your notion, 
Mr. Grant, of this hair-brained young lady ?” 

“ That we should all be better, and I am not sure, but wiser 
too, for some of her spirit he replied. 

“ I am not, I hope, thoughtlessly sanguine, Mr. Dana 
pursued Ida. “ I expect discouragement and difficulties, for I 
know the class I have to deal with. It is no girl’s ambition to 
play lady patroness that spurs me on in this task. The idea 
originated with my mother, and was a darling scheme of hers 
and mine ; but was laid low with many other benevolent plans 
— laid by, I should say — for my prayer and aim are to prove 
myself worthy of my parentage. Few females at my age are 
placed in my circumstances ; and I do not court notoriety or 
responsibility, although some will have it so. Constant, stirring 
exercise is as indispensable to my mind as body. Forgive me, 
dear sir ; but I have been distressed by an occasional misgiving, 
that you thought me unfeminine, regardless of public opinion. 
I love my friends as dearly, truly as any one; I have no relish 
for masculine pursuits ; I would have woman move in her God- 
appointed sphere ; — but if He has endowed me with talents and 
opportunity for extending my usefulness, I fear not to improve 
them. Do you understand me ?” 

“ My daughter ! must I say, that next to my wife, you are 
nearer to me than any woman living ? and I respect and honor, 
as much as I love you. Where is the mammet of fashion I 


33J: 


ALONE. 


would consult and trust as I do you ? You are honestly striving 
with a purpose, and hoping for no plaudit but ^ she hath done 
what she could ’ How many mistake the limit of their < could V 
Go on as you have begun, and you will develope the highest 
type of female character. That I have not said this much 
before, is because I am a man of few words ; and you appeared 
to shun open praise/^ 

Mr. Grant, seeing they were forgetting him, had, with native 
delicacy, stepped without the door, upon pretext of speaking to 
a passing laborer. 

Ida was moved even to tears, by her guardian^s unqualified 
encomium, so feelingly uttered. The esteem of such a man was, 
of itself a reward for her confiicts with self and outward tempta- 
tions. She had so much to be thankful for ! she said over and 
over, that day. She was at home ! at Sunnybank ! the air was 
purer — the water clearer — the birds merrier, there than any- 
where else ; and there was abiding tranquillity in the thought 
that she might live and die under the roof-tree that sheltered her 
cradle ; an enlargement of heart and kindliness as she beheld her 
dependents rejoicing in her restoration to them ; looking to her 
for support and happiness. And that mother^s grave was there ! 
She sat there a long hour at even-tide. The willow leafiets were 
just putting out, and the swaying of the flexile boughs was 
slight and noiseless. There was a hush in the air — not a dead 
calm — but a solemn pause, as if Nature had folded her busy 
hands to return devout thanks for mercies past, and gather 
strength for future labor. Ida was no sickly dreamer now. 
She knew life, as it is — a day ! only a day — divide and sub- 
divide as we may, — the morning hallowed by some with early 
prayer — squandered by more in trifling ; the noon, waxing to 
its height over reeking brows and panting chests, and straining 
arms ; the evening, relaxing the strung muscles, and curdling 
the bounding blood, and bringing to each his meed, — righteous 
recompense for his deeds, fair or foul ; and the night — black- 
browed angel, saying to the vexed brain, Thy work is ended 1’^ 
spreading his hands over the swelling heart- wave, and it is still ! 
bidding the harassed body — Sleep on nowand take your rest.” 
She knew life, and that to the God-fearing toiler in His vineyard, 
there is no rest until night. He is not denied the inhalation of 


ALONE, 


335 


tLe odorous breeze, and a pause in the shade to wipe his heated 
brow ; but he must not swerve from his furrow to seek it. 
Flowers, whose kindred blossom in Paradise, smile up from the 
unsightly clods, and these he may wear in his bosom, leaving 
unculled the poppies and almond-laurel which flaunt near by ; 
content in knowing but this, what is his work, and bending, 
training every power to the strenuous endeavor to do it. 

Mr. Dana stayed but three days ; his family prolonged their 
visit into as many weeks ; nor would Ida have resigned them 
then, had not Emma been daily expected ; for the school was a 
fixed fact. Accompanied and guarded by the faithful Will, Ida 
had explored the woods, gullies and old fields for recruits. Her 
determined spirit bore her out, or she would have thrown up the 
project by the end of the first day. She chose what Will called 
the << toughest cases ” for her freshest energies. 

The Digganses lived in a rickety hut, in the exact centre 
of a common of broom straw, mowed down to stubble, for ten 
feet around the door — said area populated at Ida’s visit, by five 
white-headed children, three hounds, and two terrier puppies, a 
full-grown grunter and a brood of little ones, and half a dozen 
meagre fowls. The hounds bayed ; the terriers squeaked their 
shrill treble ; the pigs squealed, and made for the high straw ; 
the human animals scampered squallingly, into the house; while 
Ida’s horse — to complete the hubbub — set up a frightened neigh, 
and would have run, but for Will’s grip. Without waiting for 
Mrs. Diggans’ “Light! won’t you ?” she sprang from the saddle. 
The hostess came to the door with a greasy, steaming kettle in 
one hand, and the flesh-fork in the other. She deposited them 
upon the ground, wiped her hands upon her begrimmed apron, 
and offered her right. Ida blessed the ignorance of Fashion’s 
laws in these regions, which did not compel her to remove her 
gloves. The cabin did not belie the promise of the exterior. It 
was dingy and dirty scented with bacon and cabbage, and an 
indescribable smell, as of a musty cupboard, converted into a 
sleeping-room. Yet these people were not disreputable, in the 
ordinary acceptation of the word. They had never been convicted 
of theft or drunkenness. Indolence and improvidence kept 
them down, for they were never “ up.” They were as well 
off now as when they married ; if the children came faster 


• 336 


ALONE. 


than the bread, they begged or borrowed of their lucky’^ 
neighbors. 

mighty pleased to see you !” said Mrs. Diggans, dusting 
a wooden cricket with the convenient apron. << How much 
you’ve growed like your mother. Good Fathers ! I never see 
two folks more alike. You’ve done come home to live, I’ve 
heern.” 

I hope so, ma’am.” 

« You didn’t like town-folks, I ’spose ?” 

^‘Yes, ma’am; I have some good friends there, but 1 think 
my place is here.” 

<< Um-A«m ! well — you ain’t married ?” 

« Oh ! no, ma’am.” 

« But you’re goin’ to be, I reckon ?” slyly. 

<<Not that I know of. But how are you getting on, Mrs. 
Diggans ?” 

Ah, Miss Idy ! in the same old way ; — can’t never make 
both ends jine, but somehow we lives and fattens.” 

How many children have you ?” 

<< Six — my biggest girl is out, visitin’ her father’s kin.” 

Is it possible ! I must be growing old. I recollect when 
you were married. You wore your wedding-dress' the next 
Sunday, and I thought it was so fine.” 

<^I wonder if you do?” said the flattered Mrs. Diggans. 
“Who’d a thought it? — and you so young ! One of my chil- 
dren’s named after you — Ide-e-e !” with a car-whi-tle termina- 
tion. « Come here this minute ! I liked it, ’cause ’twas a pretty 
name — sort o’ high-soundin’ you know — Ide-e-e-e !” 

Ida had ocular evidence of this new beauty of her cognomen. 

And your mother was allers mighty kind to me — ah ! she 
was a lady — every inch of her ! — Ide-e-e-e ! if you don’t come 
’long, I’ll spank you well !” 

And Idee” sneaked in, fist in her mouth, and scraped her 
bare toes in a frightfully flesh-crawling, provoking manner, while 
her namesake informed her of their relation to each other. 

How old are you, Ida?” 

Groing on seven answered the mother. 

Can you read ?” 

Bless your life, Miss Idy ! I don’t have time to teach them. 


ALONE. 


337 


nor their father neither. Mercy knows how they are to git 
any learnin\ Poor folks don’t need much, but its more 
rc-spectable to know how to read and writQ.” 

But you can read, Mrs. Diggans.” 

I used to could.” 

<< You do not object to their being taught if you are not 
troubled about it 

“ No-o. I reckon not — but who’s a goin’ to doit? thar’s 
the rub !” 

<< I will have it done.” 

^^You! Miss Ida! oh — oh! teachin’ poor folk’s chillen ain’t 
for the likes of you. We’ve scuffled along without edication, 
and so must they.” 

Say you will send them, Mrs. Diggans, and I pledge you 
my word they shall be as carefully attended to, as if they were 
the richest in the land.” 

She explained her plan. Mrs. Diggans demurred. 

She couldn’t spar Maria Julia, and Anne Marthy was too 
little to walk so far; — then their clothes warn’t fitten. She 
was mighty obliged, jest as much as if she had a*sent’ em.” 

<‘I am very sorry,” said Ida. <<I came here first, knowing 
your attachment to our family. I am really desirous you should 
oblige me. I am w disappointed.” 

Mrs. Diggans relented. If they had decent clothes. Miss 
Idy. — See them dirty rags !” 

« Their clothing must be whole and clean, certainly. Promise 
they shall attend all the session, and I will give them a suit 
apiece.” 

You’re too good. Miss Idy — jest like your ma ! We’ll talk 
about it.” 

^ « I must have an answer now. My number is limited, as 

there will be but one teacher. How many shall I put down ?” 
producing paper and pencil. 

« Only two ! but that is better than none. < For the entire 
session,’ Mrs. Diggans ; I trust to your word.” 

I keeps a promise when I makes it. Set ’em down.” 

<< Hard customers, Mistis !” said Will, as they remounted. 

<< Bather, Uncle Will; yet I dread our next visit as much. 
Does Mr. Pinely drink now ?” 


29 


338 


ALONE. 


« When he can get money or beg liquor. I feel mean, when 
he stops me in the road, to borrow a fourpence. ^ Ah, Will !' 
he says, ^ thriving and likely as when you drove your master’s 
carriage after his bride — ^your late lamented mistis I You don’t 
happen to have a fourpence in your pocket, my boy ? Unfor- 
tunately, I’m out of change. Thank you, my fine fellow — I’ll 
remember you my lad !’ I can’t deny him, Mistis. He knowcd 
your father well, when they were both young men — a smart, 
handsome gentleman he was ! and to think !” 

<< And to see !” thought Ida, as the house peeped through the 
trees, with unglazed windows, crumbling chimney, and sunken 
roof. It was presented to him by "her father — a neat, comfort- 
able cottage. His wife died of a broken heart ; the children 
were saved from starvation and freezing, times without number, 
by her mother. How they subsisted now, was an impenetrable 
mystery ; for the father never did a stroke of work, and loafed 
around the country, thrusting himself upon the hospitality of 
those with whom he had associated in former years, wearing his 
welcome — not threadbare, but into shreds, before he let go. 
In a beggar’s garb, and soliciting alms from the slaves of his old 
companions, he retained the boastful swagger and ornate language 
which earned for him, in youth, the soubriquet of Pompous 
Finely.” 

The eldest daughter was sitting upon the door-step, dressed 
almost in tatters; her matted hair twisted up with a tinsel comb 
— a gift from her father, in a generously drunken fit; and 
the remnants of a pair of silk stockings hanging about a neatly 
turned foot and ankle. Hex face was clean ; and Ida could not 
but observe its beauty, as she blushed and smiled an embarrassed 
welcome. 

You have not forgotten me, Laura ; but you have grown* 
so, I scarcely knew you. Are you all well ?” 

Except papa, who has a headache. Walk in.” 

“ No, thank you. It is pleasant out here.” She seated herself 
upon a block beside the door. « Where are the children ?” 

Gone to look for strawberries.” 

<< Isn’t it too early for them ?” 

« << I’m afraid so — but they wanted some so badly.” 


ALONE. 330 

Ida suspected, from her stammering, that more substantial 
food would have been as acceptable. 

came partly on business, Laura,’^ she hastened to say, 
apprehending an irruption from the interior. I am trying to 
get up a school in the neighborhood, to be taught at Sunnybank, 
by a friend of mine — 

Miss B/Oss ! do I in truth, have the felicity Ida groaned 
in spirit. The softened image of my ever lamented friend 
continued the inebriate, whose headache was easily accounted 
for. Putting his hand to his heart, he heaved a profound sigh. 

<< Ah ! my dear young lady ! may you have the inheritance of 
his transcendant virtues, as of his faultless physiognomy ! Laura, 
my daughter — have you offered our guest refreshments 

Excuse me, sir ! I have not time to partake of them. I wa^ 
apologising to Laura for my first visit being a business call.’^ 

<^She wants to open a school up at Sunnybank, papa. Do 
let us go!’^ cried the girl, eagerly. His face wore a mask of 
extreme concern. 

It cannot be ! the righteous Fates can never be so oblivious 
to unparalleled excellence as to ordain that you — the solitary 
scion of an aristocratic race, shall be reduced by unpropitious 
vicissitudes, to the necessity of maintaining yourself by the 
arduous employment of imparting instruction to the juvenile ^ 
mind 

A friend is to be the instructress, sir. I shall exercise a 
general supervision.^^ 

What a mountain you .remove ! I trembled at the sup- 
position that you were precipitated upon the frozen charities 
of a mercenary world. Ah, my young friend ! the most shameful 
part of human hypocrisy is the heartless repudiation of unmerited 
exigency I” . . 

May we go, papa persisted the daughter. so want 
to learn I” k. 

My beloved ! wariness is indispensable in the adjudication^ 
of a measure vitally affecting your intellectual progress. Is your^ 
friend versed in classical lore. Miss Boss ?” 

This absurdity was almost a match for Ida^s forbearance. 

Her recommendations cannot be impeached, Mr. Finely,’^ she 
said, spiritedly. 


340 


ALONE. 


I solicit no further assurance, Miss Ross, than your appro- 
bation of her qualifications. You have my paternal sanction, 
my daughter. Moderate your transports, my love I” She had 
clapped her hands. Pray assign her extravaganzas to the 
intensity of her admiration of your lovesome self. Miss Ross. 
I blush at the trivialness of the reference — but my income is 
not YnJiat it was, when your father and myself were twin-souls. 
The remorseless falchion of Time cleaves down rank and fortune 
in his flight. The remuneration, — Miss Ross ! If the scanty 
pecuniary assistance I can render your fair friend will ameliorate 
her hardships, my ( bosom’s lord will sit lightly on its throne !’ 

Ida curtly told him, no tuition fees were demanded.” 

That materially alters the aspect of your proposition. My 
munificent lady ! this is a flagrant spoliation of yourself !” 

I do not consider it as such, sir.” 

<< Your enthusiastic philanthropy misleads you. I cannot be an 
accomplice to this generous fraud. My children remain in their 
own habitation unless your friend accepts compensation for her 
toils.” 

Laura looked ashamed and sorrowful, and Ida restrained her 
indignant contempt. “We will not differ about a trifle, Mr. 
Finely. The terms and time of payment are subject to your 
discretion and convenience. I may enter your little ones — 
Laura included ? There are three, besides yourself, Laura ?” 

“ They are docile to the flower-wreathed wand of moral suasion. 
Miss Ross, but may betray obduration if sterner means are 
employed. Of corporeal punishment we will not speak; the 
rod would fall barbless, from the lily digits of gentle woman.” 

“You will come to school, Monday week;” Ida was saying 
to Laura : “ but do not wait until then to pay me a visit. I 
must have a long talk with you. Good bye.” 

Tears stood in Laura’s eyes. Already she regarded her bene- 
factress with feelings bordering upon devotion. Ida, in her sober 
ride, turning over the degradation and misery whose alleviation 
seemed impracticable, had no suspicion of the leaven she had 
hidden in the heavy lump. 


ALONE. 


341 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

Anna Talbot’s sketch of Emma’s privations was not over- 
drawn. If her condition had been tolerable, an offer from Ida 
Ross, as she recollected her, — proud and unsociable, — would not 
have tempted her to change it. But Ida was honorable and 
liberal, despite her haughtiness ; and in her uncle’s family, she 
was an ill-paid under-servant. Ida sent her carriage and servants 
for her ; and this regard for her comfort, while it called forth 
the contumely of her employers, raised her hopes of a friendly 
reception. 

« There’s my mistis in the porch,” said Will, leaning down 
from his perch, to speak to his fair passenger. They were 
driving up an avenue, closed by a house, which, to Emma’s 
modest eyes, was an imposing architectural pile. A haze dimmed 
her vision ; in her agitation, she saw nothing of the awful figure 
Will pointed out, but the flutter of white drapery. The great 
yard-gates were open, and the cjttriage rolled over the gravelled 
circle which swept by the main entrance. She did not recognise 
the frank, sweet face that appeared at the carriage-door, but 
the voice was not to be forgotten. I am very glad you are 
come !” it said, and the kiss and the embrace verified the welcome. 

How changed !” was the thought of each. Emma was thin, 
and when the glow of the meeting faded — dejected. She looked, 
to Ida, like one who had been subjected to a constant weight, 
bending body and heart, almost to breaking, — as if the one 
feather more would end the torture. And her own spirit, gaining 
buoyancy day by day, under its discipline, gathered force from 
the necessity of restoring the lost elasticity to another’s. She 
conducted her school-fellow to a chamber, once hers, and adjoining 
that she now occupied ; divested her of her heavy hat and shawl, 
and commanded her imperatively to <^lie down.” Emma 
reposed her weary limbs upon a luxurious mattress ; the breeze 
waving the spotless curtains, and whispering of green hills, and 
cool forests and violet banks ; her hostess, after vainly attempt- 

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342 


ALONE. 


ing to persuade her that she required sleep — bathing her head 
with fragrant waters, and talking in inspiriting, affectionate 
tones, which were more than manna to her hungry heart. Mrs. 
Dana had gone the preceding day, and Emma was soon con- 
vinced that she had done a charitable — most meritorious deed, 
in arriving when she did ; but she smiled, as she heard the 
lively voice dilate upon the horrors^’ and azure imps,'^ that 
had infested the house while she was sole occupant — << always 
excepting my chaperon and soi-disant housekeeper, good Miss 
Betsey — soi-disant as I am, in point of fact, housekeeper myself. 
I have a great fancy to see to everything with my own eyes. 
We are retired here — I wrote this, you know — but there are 
some agreeable families within visiting distance. I am delighted 
at having a helper in the labor of receiving and returning visits ; 
and my rides and walks will be doubly pleasant. Are you fond 
of out-door exercise ?” 

Very — but I have neglected the duty for a year or two past.” 

<< You shall not be so remiss here. I intend to be exacting. 
A gallop before breakfast, and a walk — not a promenade — 
before tea, will plant bright roses in these white cheeks. When 
you are rested, we will unlock our budget of news. Having 
been apart for so long, each will have a week’s steady talk.” 

When she arose, revived in spirits and strength, she was 
taken over the premises to see her home.” Mr. Grant was 
introduced, and doffed his hat as to a queen; the negroes were 
respectfully cordial to the friend of their mistress; but more than 
all, Ida’s bearing assured the trampled-down orphan, that she 
was here second to none — superior in command and importance 
to all, except the head of the establishment. It may have been 
the earnestness, which was the prevailing element of Ida’s 
character, or her sympathetic nature, (Charley affirmed it was 
the latter,) which made it impossible for those who knew her, 
to be indifferent, or lukewarm in their sentiments towards her. 
Mr. Read, Josephine and Pemberton, having seen the wrong 
side of her disposition, hated her with a rancor, benefits nor 
patient efforts could appease. Her chosen intimates found no 
mate for their affection, but in their esteem and respect. Lynn’s 
love for her was more like worship than that he entertained for 


ALONE. 


343 


Ellen — adored as she was ; with Carry, she had no compeer of 
her sex ; the exceeding tenderness of John Dana and his wife 
was a mystery to themselves; and in Charley’s heart she had 
the highest place — taking rank even of the brother, to whom 
he had sacrificed his hopes of earthly bliss. Emma experienced, 
and yielded to the charm ; she could not have resisted suc- 
cessfully, if she would; for Ida was determined to attach her 
to herself, and her indomitable resolution would have accom- 
plished this, had her attractive qualities been less winningly 
displayed. From the moment of her arrival, Emma improved, 
and as the beautiful tracery of her character came out, to reward 
the warm rays love poured over it, Ida was confirmed in her 
satisfaction at her choice. She had not entire confidence in her 
ability to control the restive spirits, which had run wild, without 
rule or rein ; but this fear vanished with a careful observation 
of her government and its results. If the wand” was “flower- 
wreathed,” it was no supple or brittle reed, to bend or snap in 
the storm. None, who had once rebelled against her mildlautho- 
rity, were ever inclined to repeat the offence. 

If, as had been asserted, Ida sought the Utopia of her fanciful 
dreams in her “ return to Palestine,” as she playfully styled it ; 
if her ideas of country life were drawn from pastorals and 
romances, she would have sunk under the drawbacks and iron 
realities she encountered. Her influence over her servants were 
strong; but among so many, insubordination reared its head, 
now and then. The idle and sulky, deceived by her amenity 
and care for their welfare, appealed from Mr. Grant’s decisions 
to her clemency ; and with so much plausibility, that when this 
mode of undermining his laws was new, she was ready to sustain 
them. Consistent, however, to her principle of examining both 
sides of a question, she refused to reverse any decree, before 
hearing all the circumstances ; and invariably, when this was 
done, ratified the original judgment. There were old and 
privileged supernumeraries who talked of her father’s child- 
hood, as a thing of yesterday ; and volunteering the advantage 
of their experience for the benefit of the “poor chile,” — tossed 
their heads high at the idea of her controlling or enlightening 
them. Adding to self-righteousness, the whims and peevishness 


3i4 


ALONE. 


of age, they caused Ida more annoyance than the management 
of the whole estate besides; and hardly less than the never- 
ending vexations of the Digganses, and their neighbors of the 
same stamp, not to mention Finely — most wearisome of all. He 
penned voluminous epistles, to complain of a trivial oversight 
in her otherwise irreproachable system of philanthropy,^^ or 
to convey a father’s acknowledgments for the soul-elevating 
teachings of which his beloved offspring were accipients and 
when they were unnoticed, his visits were frequent. She 
received him with distant politeness ; and strove to repress his 
forwardness by chilling dignity — and he came again next day. 
At last he presented himself in the parlor, where were Emma 
and herself — so intoxicated, that he could not stand upright. 
His tongue was oily as ever, notwithstanding his limbs refused 
to do their office; and when Will entered, in answer to the 
vehement ring, he was holding the door with both hands, swing- 
ing it with him in his attempts to bow to the ladies, he was 
addressing as, incomparable pair ! whose supereminent enchant- 
ments are confessed by the most hebete of created intelligences.^' 

Emma had shrunk into a corner, and Ida, her hand still upon 
the bell-rope — her brow frowning — spoke in a lofty tone, Uncle 
Will ! you will conduct this gentleman to the porch, and as much 
further as he shall see convenient to go. It is necessary to 
teach him to exercise some discrimination as to the times of 
his visits." 

For Laura, the girls were strongly interested. Her pro- 
gress in her studies was incredibly rapid ; and their wretched 
home, if comfortless, was clean. She had no means of providing 
wardrobes or furniture ; and Ida, hailing the dawning reforma- 
tion, contributed as delicately as she could, such articles as they 
needed most. Laura’s taste was good ; and her aptitude enabled 
her to catch the ways and language of her friends, with fidelity 
and quickness. In six months after Ida’s business call, she 
would not have been ashamed to introduce her in any company, 
however polished. But how was this to end ? Would it not 
be wiser benevolence to content themselves with bestowing the 
rudiments of a common education, without exciting aspirations 
after pursuits, so incongruous with the occupations of her lowly 


ALONE. 345 

station, as belles lettres, music and drawing ? Ida put the 
objection down with an irreversible negative. 

The girl has a mind ! and every intellect which God makes, 
should receive all the nutriment it can absorb. Let us give 
her her quantum, and in time she will reach her level. She is 
below it at present. If that odious father were out of her 
way V* 

He will be a drag to her as long as he lives said Emma. 

Yes, and alas ! he is more fit to live than to die. You have 
read of the beggar idiot, who told Sir Walter Scott that he 
would be perfectly happy, but for the < Bubly Jock,^ (turkey 
gobbler,) that followed him everywhere. Pinely is my ^ Bubly 
Jock,^ I listen to hear him gobble whenever he comes near me.^^ 
<< Laura has an uncommon talent for music said Emma. 

I have remarked it replied Ida, << and we have thought 
of the same thing, that her surest path to independence, and the 
position in society his vice has lost, is to qualify herself for a 
teacher. I waited to consult you before recommending it to 
her.^^ 

<< And that delay was unnecessary. You can take my consent 
for granted in everything your judgment approves. Now, Laura 
has no motive but her love for knowledge and us. With a 
definite aim, she will surmount every difficulty, for her energy 
is as remarkable as her ability.^' 

This was one of their twilight talks in the roomy porch. 

I believe,^^ said Ida, laughing •, « Miss Betsey fears the Ross 
pride is extinct in me. It costs her a twinge to see me teach 
my sable class, and she modestly hinted, this morning, that her 
chamber, or the dining-room would be a more proper place for 
their recitations, than mine. I represented to her that they 
were not there more than an hour in the day, and came in 
groups of three or four — one set retiring as another entered; 
and that they felt a pride in being neat and orderly, because 
they were in ^ Mistis^ room,' — but the dear old creature was not 
satisfied, although she held her peace." 

<< And you are the Ida Ross, whose pride kept the whole school 
at a distance !" exclaimed Emma. How you were misunder- 
stood !" 


346 


ALONE. 


Understood, my dear ! if I appeared disagreeable and selfish. 
That was my dark age, Emma. How much has transpired since ! 
how much of sorrow — how much of joy 

“ You are not unhappy now I” said Emma, in a tone of sur- 
prised inquiry 

“ No, my love ! happy and busy — and thankful for my Father’s 
love and favors — not the least of which is His gift of a com- 
panion.” 

Carry had asked her a similar question during her first sum- 
mer at Poplar grove — with what different emotions she had 
replied. 

But,” she resumed, the unbending will is not dead yet. 
Dr. Hall and lady called on me to-day, and I unfolded our 
prospectus of a Sabbath-school. The doctor pursed up his mouth 
in his quizzical way. < The Church is four miles from you.’ 

< But only three from yow,’ said I. 

^ There is preaching there, on an average, two Sabbaths 
in a month. Will not that interfere with your instructions 

‘Not at all, sir. We shall be through by the hour for public 
worship.’ 

“‘But there will not be time to go to another church, where 
there is no service.’ 

“ ‘ Can’t help it, sir. We must go home and read a sermon, 
seasoned by the consciousness of duty performed.’ 

“ ‘ You have a school-mania said he. 

“ ‘ The grown trees are so stubbornly crooked, that I have 
no hope but in the twigs.’ 

“ ‘ A fair hit, doctor ! ’ said Mrs. Hall. ‘ Submit with 
a good grace. He was wishing, th'e other day, for something 
to keep ‘ idle men ’ and children off of ‘ Satan’s ground.’ He 
is feigning objections, Ida.’ 

“ ‘ A bad game, doctor,’ answered I. ‘We will have the 
school, and what is more, — you for superintendent.’ 

“ He remonstrated now in earnest, but we out-talked him. He 
and Mr. Latham are to circulate the information, and solicit aid 
and scholars.” 

“Who says unmarried women can do nothing in the work 
of the world’s reformation ?” said Emma. “ How many in 


ALONE. 


347 


your situation, would be wrapped up in self, with a churlish 
delight that the claims of their fellow-creatures upon them were 
so feeble.^^ 

A woman’s heart, in its healthy state, must have some- 
thing to love returned Ida. The fountain is perennial, 
so long as its waters are drawn off Stop their outgoings — 
stagnation — poisonous miasma — dryness ensue. The more we 
have to love, the better we feel — the better we are, Emma — for 
the closer is our approximation to the Being, who is all love !” 

This time, a year ago, I was disposed to think that in the 
economy of His Providence, crosses and trials were all His chil- 
dren’s portion in this life. Sweetly has He rebuked my want 
of faith !” said Emma. 

Not a year ago,” rejoined Ida, His ways to me were 
past finding out. I wished to stay here in peaceful seclusion, 
and He sent me again into the world. The ^ silver lining ’ of 
the cloud, impervious then, is already visible. Leaving out the 
experience I have acquired in that time, I should have com- 
menced my residence here under a guardianship, which made 
interest and appearance the guage of fidelity ; should have 
missed Mr. Dana’s invaluable as’sistance; have lost an oppor- 
tunity to forget past grievances, and return good for evil — more 
than one, indeed. I had not heard then, that you were teach- 
ing, and should not, therefore, have thought of you as a 
co-laborer. Uncle Will would say we ought to be happy in 
the Lord’s appointed way.’” 

There is no other path of peace,” said Emma. Yet I am 
foolishly ungrateful sometimes, in misinterpreting what He 
has done, and peering into the ^ shadowy future.’” 

<< That was, formerly, my besetting sin. Now I have to 
guard against ‘looking mournfully into the past.’ What a 
world of meaning in those few words ! And how like a trumpet- 
call to the ‘world’s field of battle,’ sound the 'inspired exhorta- 
tions of the same poet — 

‘ Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant; 

Let the dead Past bury its dead ; 

y Act act in the living Present! 

Heart within, and God o’erhead!’ 


A 


348 


ALONE. 


I can see the vigorous, upward fling of his arm, as shouting 
that last line, he shakes out his banner in the morning breeze ! 
It thrills through every nerve, as I recite it.^^ 

His is the true Bible philosophy said Emma, < living 
by the day,^ — saying, as we fall asleep at night — 

‘To-morrow, Lord! is Thine, 

Lodged in Thy sovereign hand ; 

And & its sun arise and shine. 

It shines by Thy command!’ 

^^Dear Lynn T' sighed Ida. << They sung that hymn at his 
funeral.^* 

<< < Looking mournfully P said Emma, in affectionate chiding. 
Yes ! yet not repiningly. I was thinking, also, of the sure 
pleasure we have in the possession of our Father’s love. We 
know that is pure, and cannot pass away ; while our most sinless 
earthly attachments are enjoyed with trembling.” 

The Sunday-school, a novelty to all — the scoff of not a few, 
opened with fifty scholars and five teachers — Dr. and Mrs. 
Hall, Mr. Latham, a student of medicine and protegi of the 
former, Ida and Emma. Classing the children according to 
their capacity and attainments, the Doctor apportioned an equal 
number to each of his assistants, and planted himself before 
a form, containing ten of the most unpromising. There must 
be an awkward squad,” he said, afterwards, << and who is more 
fit to command it ?” Reinforcements were on the ground by 
the following Sabbath. The number of pupils constantly in- 
creased j some who came to see remained to teach ; and others 
were pressed into service by the energetic superintendent. 
Having induced him to put his hand to the plough, Ida gave 
over her exertions in that quarter ; he drove as straight and 
deep a furrow as she could have desired. She was a teacher 
in an obscure corner, and nothing in her appearance or that of 
her class, distinguished them from the crowd, but when the 
thread-like rill widened into a flood, bearing broadly, steadily 
onward, the wonder and praise of its early opponents, she felt 
an honest pride in the reflection, that the witch-wand of Chris- 
tian charity which had bent to the source of the stream was 
hers. Dr. Hall was mindful of this, and with the mistaken, but 




ALONE. 


349 


well-meant importunity of gratitude, begged ber to occupy a 
more 'conspicuous post. She had contributed largely to the 
library, the selection of which was left wholly to her, and he 
entreated her to act as librarian. She declined, laughingly, and 
more positively, as he insisted ; and at length, was driven to 
say, that if it were for the actual good of the school, she would 
even do violence to her sense of propriety, and comply; as it 
was not, she hoped to be excused from occupying a stand, which 
was, for a lady, at best, but an honorable pillory.^^ And the 
Doctor, finally comprehending what other men as wise and 
exemplary, are slow to admit — that to use onehs talents does 
not imply the abandonment of the retiring modesty of woman- 
hood — installed Mr. Latham in the vacant chair. 

Ida was not too much absorbed in her numerous avocations 
to think of, and communicate with her absent friends. Her cor- 
respondence with Mrs. Dana, Carry and Charley was regular; 
John Dana wrote longer letters to her than to any one besides 
his wife ; she heard, once in a while, from Alice Murray, and 
through her, learned that Mrs. Read was living in strict retire- 
ment at her father’s, seeing none but her near relatives and 
friends ; and that Richard was playing the lover to Lelia Arnold. 

But,” said the merry writer — who angles for him, must bait 
one of these patent hooks, which hold, as well as catch.” Ida 
sighed softly, as she read, and was unceasingly busy for the rest 
of the day ; her infallible remedy for sombre thoughts. Mrs. 
Read had written once, while Ida was at Mr. Dana’s — a mere 
note of remembrances and thanks. She might have supposed 
that Josephine had forgotten her existence, but for an uncom- 
fortable suspicion that the cessation of Anna’s friendly billets 
was owing to her influence. Ellen Morris wrote often, and 
spent a fortnight with her and Emma in August. Ida signalled 
Carry of the intended visit, and invited her to join in the re- 
union. She was eagerly expected each evening of Ellen’s stay, 
and as often they looked in vain. The guest had been gone a 
week, before tidings came from' Poplar grove. It was a double 
letter. Arthur wrote that the little Ida was recovering from an 
alarming illness. The crisis had passed now. They would have 
sent for her, but the child’s danger was so imminent for many 

30 


350 


ALONE. 


days, that there was no certainty that she would survive until a 
letter reached Sunnyhank. she had died’^ — and the strong 

physician’s hand had trembled as he wrote it — I should have 
taken our Carry to you. It was a heart-breaking trial to her — 
I trust, not an unsanctified one.” 

Carry’s was a blotted sheet, penned in agitation or haste, but 
its contents were cheering wine to Ida’s soul. There was much 
said of her unworthiness, and thankless reception of the goodness 
which had followed her all the days of her life, and thanksgiv- 
ings for her child’s restoration, with slight allusions to her 
harrowing anxiety, while it was suspended ’twixt life and death. 
^^Pray, dear Ida,” said she, that I may forever cling to the 
cross, to which I fled in my distressful hour !” 

Another!” said Ida, with tearful gladness. <^Oh! blessed 
Redeemer I is there not room in Thy fold for all 

“ Surely,” she replied to Carry, None of us liveth to himself, 
and none of us dieth to himself. My darling name-child, (may 
she be one of the Saviour’s lambs!) has, in her unconscious 
infancy, led her mother to Him. My own Carry ! this is what I 
have prayed for from the first hour in which I prayed at all. If 
the angels in heaven rejoice over repenting sinners, shall not we, 
who have sinned, suffered with them, rejoice the more at their 
emancipation from bondage? By what various avenues of 
approach do we arrive at the Cross ! our Hope ! Some fly, 
scourged by fears of the wrath to come ; some are drawn by the 
gentle cords of love — attracted by the majestic sweetness of the 
Saviour’s smile ; others, like you,- for comfort in sharp and 
sudden sorrow ; and others yet, with myself, having quaffed in 
quick succession, the beaded nectar that knowledge, worldly 
applause, earthly loves gave to our parched lips, come weary, 
distraught — our blood drying with the fierce heat of the poison, 
to lie down beside the still waters. Oh ! my beloved ! the 
delights of sin may entice, and cavillers ridicule, as false profes- 
sors cast reproach upon our holy religion ; but let us make it the 
one object of life — all duties and pleasures subservient to it; let 
us love it — work for it ; never raising our hands, to sink again 
idly, but striking blows which shall tell our zeal for Christ’ s 
kingdom ! 


ALONE. 


351 


T long to see you and your dear ones. If you cannot come 
before, you are pledged to me for a part — say the whole, ot 
October. The entire family — my guardian and your sister, 
Charley and the < wee ones’ are to celebrate my majority then. 
My nominal majority — virtually, I am as free as I ever expect 
to be. Emma is a treasure to me, and she seems happy. Who 
could have presaged, in our school days, that we would live and 
labor together 1” 


352 


ALONE. 


CHAPTEE XXX. 

Laura Finely was practising her music lesson in the parlor 
one day, when the entrance of a visitor transferred the motion 
from her fingers to her feet. I only glanced at him as he 
bowed to me on my way out,” she said to Ida. He is tall and 
handsome.” 

Have you ever seen Mr. Dana ?” 

<< Yes ma^am, and it is not he This is a younger man, and 
much fairer.” 

Who can it be ?” pondered Ida, crossing the hall. I wish 
he had sent in his name ; I do not like to be taken by surprise.” 

But she was, as Richard Copeland rose to meet her. 

« I had no thought of seeing you !” she said, expressing her 
pleasure at his coming. I did not know you were in this part 
of the country.” 

Nor was I, yesterday.” 

<< You have been riding all day^ have you dined ?” 

He arrestor! her movement towards the belL What are you 
about to do ?” 

<< Order refreshments for yourself, and have your horse put 
up.” 

< Entertainment for man and beast ” he responded, with a 
sickly smile. I dined on the road — my steed ditto; and he cap 
stand where he is for a half-hour.” 

Half-an-hour, Mr. Copeland ! You are not in the city !” 

But my visit must be short. How has the world treated you 
since our parting ?” 

<< Excellently well !” said she, gaily, but secretly ill at ease 
at the alteration she observed in him. His manner to her was 
subduedly respectful ; but a reckless, blase air hung about him, 
token of carelessness or dissipation. 

Your friends at home are well, I hope,” she said. 

<< Quite well. Helen — ” the remembered cloud lowered 

gloomily — ‘‘ sent her regards.” 


ALONE. 353 

And you may carry my love back to her. I will not repay 
formality by formality.^^ 

Love questioned he, with a keen glance. 

Yes — why not 

What reason have you to love her 

Certainly no cause for dislike/^ she replied. She treated 
me kindly.^^ 

^ A dizzy man sees the world go round ” quoted Richard. 

Mr. Copeland said Ida, with a grave sincerity, that always 
unmasked dissimulation. For the short time we are together, 
let us speak as friends, who understand each other. Or do you 
prefer that I shall meet you upon your own ground of satirical 
innuendo 

As friendsj Miss Ida! you have proved that the name is not 
meaningless. But we do not understand each other.’' 

“We didV’ said she. 

“Partially. You have risen — I. fallen in the scale of being, 
since then. Your conduct to my unhappy sister, has imposed a 
debt of gratitude upon us — upon me, especially, which words 
cannot liquidate. This is the one subject of mutual interest to 
Helen and myself. She is, in effect, a cloistered nun; an 
unsmiling ascetic; — atoning for the sins of youth by penances 
and alms. This phase of piety is the larvae stage, I imagine. 
Miss Ross?" A grieved look answered the sneer. “Pardon 
me ! if your charity can make allowance for one, who has become 
a doubter from extraneous influences, rather than nature. Helen 
and myself have never exchanged a word, except upon common- 
place topics, during her widowhood, until three days ago. I 
had avowed my implacable hatred of her lover in her hearing. 
Other members of the family, have caught stray rumors here and 
there, — sent out, doubtless, by Miss Read ; but their unbelief in 
them being settled by my silence, and Helen’s apparent affliction, 
they have not noticed them except by a passing denial. But 
Helen knew that I watched her, and her surveillance of me was 
as jealously vigilant. I have seen her face blanch in an agony 
of alarm at my quitting her for an hour ; and the most tender 
sister never wept and prayed for a brother’s return, as she did 

30 * 


354 


ALONE . 


for mine. I should not have been here now, but for intelligence, 
received a week since, of Ashlin’s death. 

Death !’’ ejaculated Ida, horrified. How had the bold, 
bad man’^ gone to his account ? Where was he now ? 

He was killed in a duel in Bourdeaux,’^ said Richard, cooly. 
<< The villain escaped a less honorable fate by flight. Devoted 
as Helen was to him, the news was a relief, — removing as it did, 
her apprehensions of our meeting. So much for her. Thus ends 
the last chapter of that tragedy!’^ His countenance lost its 
Ditter scorn. 

“ Miss Ida — before I met you, I never feared to speak what 
was in my thoughts. Policy or compassion may have deterred 
me — but cowardice never ! I believed I had read every page in 
man’s or woman’s heart, and could flutter them with a breath. 
You were a study, taken up in curiosity, and baflling me by its 
very simplicity. You furnished me with a clue ; but my skepti- 
cism cast it aside — to seek it again, and admit its eflScacy in a 
solitary instance. Ingenuous in word and deed — you had yet, 
a hidden history. I felt it then, vaguely — not able to tell from 
whence the consciousness sprung. Can it be that virtue thrives 
only in the shade V* 

He stopped again. Ida’s face was crimsoning slowly with 
confusion and suspense. 

<‘It must be said !” resumed he, desperately. I may probe 
a wound, or touch a callous heart. Miss Ross ! will you state to 
me candidly, the character of your acquaintance with Mr. Lacy T* 

Ida’s tongue was palsied. She would have given her estate 
for power to say — He was my friend but it was denied. 

“ Then bear with me awhile. The evening of our introduction, 
I imparted to yoii the information of Delia Arnold’s engage- 
ment; and your deprecation of her trifling seemed only the 
detestation of a pure and upright soul. If I saw mournful pity 
in the eyes, which were often riveted by her beauty, I suspected 
no more. Before leaving Richmond, I heard that he had been— - 
perhaps was then your lover : — the direction of your preference 
was not known. In my superior sagacity, I opined that my 
friend Germaine was his fortunate rival. Your rejection of his 
suit recalled the gossip I had not thought worth remembering. 


ALONE, 


355 


Lelia was Helen’s confidante ; knew of her betrothal to Ashlin, 
and surmised, if she was not informed of the rupture, when it 
occurred,^ After Mr. Read’s death, my mother mentioned inci- 
dentally, that her influence had been exerted to the utmost, to 
persuade her friend to accept him. Until I heard that, I had 
laughed at her snares to entangle me — the only man, it was 
said, who was invulnerable to her arts. I despised her before, 
I hated her now ; yet the county rung with acclamations over 
my capture; and the fair Lelia, in her exultation, was beguiled 
into an impolitic show of tenderness. I have her picture, her 
ring, her letters. I could dash them into the sea, without a 
pang, and would plunge after them, sooner than marry her. I 
designed a punishment for her falsehood in friendship and love ; 
but all the while, was haunted with an indefinite thought that 
you were to be affected by the result. If your lover had been 
wiled away by her machinations, or more likely — if she had 
played upon his imagination and sense of honor, in an unguarded 
hour — I could free him. I intended to see you, and tell you 
this, but Helen hastened the execution of the plot. * Breaking 
nur accustomed reserve, she implored me to quiet her fears 
touching my marriage. A glimmering of Lelia’ s treachery had 
penetrated her mind ; — she mistrusted that she was playing me 
false, and that she had deceived others. I struck a key, which 
I knew would give a true sound — her love for you. She had 
heard your name coupled with his, she said ; and once, a direct 
assertion of your attachment for him, but it was from lying lips. 
If I have wearied and displeased you, intimate it. If not — • 
here are the proofs to secure you revenge or happiness. Say the 
word, and the dupe is enlightened. She will not suffer more, 
that you connive at her disgrace. Her mortification will be 
public, and is inevitable. Where is Mr. Lacy ?” 

I do not know, and would not tell you if I did !” cried Ida. 
« If I were dying of a broken heart, I would refuse the healing 
your cold-blooded scheme offered. She may be — I believe her 
unworthy of him ; but when he sought her, he was shackled by 
no vows to me. He is not a vain boy, to be flattered into a 
courtship ! if duped, she has cruelly deceived the noblest heart 
that ever beat. I honor him more for not discovering her snare, 


356 


ALONE. 


than you, for mastering her in duplicity. No ! Mr. Copeland ! 
I have no wrongs to avenge upon him or her — nor is it your 
prerogative, to retaliate for your, or your sister's injuries. We 
do not understand each other ! You impute traits to me, which 
the weakest of my sex would blush to own ; and I thought you 
generous — high-minded ! < Fallen,' indeed I" Her voice shook, 
and her head sank upon the table. The man of the world was 
confounded. The lofty tone of her principles lowered his plotted 
vengeance into unmanly spite. 

He had been incited to it by the low standard of the sex, 
his sister's and her associate's conduct had set up in his mind ; 
and a desire to betray the baseness of the currency the accom- 
plished coquette was passing off upon society — backed by a 
justifiable displeasure at the evils of which she was the author. 

I am to understand that you disdain my offer to serve you ?" 
he said, rising. 

She looked up. To serve me ! how thankfully I would avail 
myself of such ! I was hasty — unkind ! Ho not go yet !" 

He sat down. << It is all so confused !" she said, apologeti- 
cally. You are engaged to Lelia Arnold, and do not love her ; 
— 'yet you muet have told her that you did !" 

He colored, and did not reply. 

< You are meditating a punishment for her — what has she 
done that you have not ?" 

Falsehood — unprovoked falsehood is viler in a woman I 
was driven to it." 

<< Viler in a woman — more despicable in a man ! You should 
be above the petty vanity and ambition, that if cultivated, root 
up our better feelings. Selfishness, love of admiration, and in 
your case, pique, actuated her; — ^you have the bare plea of 
malice !" 

Miss Boss ! malice !" 

Examine, and say if it is not so. Punishment, in this 
world, has cure for its object. Was this yours? or was it that 
she might endure the pain she had inflicted upon others ?" 

Call it retribution." 

There is but one Retributive Being. He says < Vengeance 
is mine 1' " 


ALONE. 357 

<<You are unsophisticated, Miss Ida. Your maxims are 
obsolete in the polity of the age.^' 

Because they are extracts from a changeless code. I am 
serious, Mr. Copeland. Your conscience assures you that you 
are in the wrong; that you have acted childishly — sinfully. 
That another debases God’s gifts, is no reason why you should 
sully the fine gold of your heart. You have committed this 
outrage, or you could not talk of the sweetness of revenge.^^ 
And I am serious. Miss Ida. Unjust, as you say I have 
been to myself, I have the manliness to recognise the superiority 
of a character — the antipodes of mine. I repeat, I regret my 
inability to serve you. Good evening.^^ 

<^Are you going thus ? What if we never meet again 

<< We part friends. Your reproaches, cutting as they were, 
have not diminished my esteem.’' 

She could extort nothing more satisfactory. He would make 
no concessions — tender no pledges. Large tears gathered and 
dropped, as she beheld him mount and ride away ; and other 
emotions than grief at her ill-success sent tributaries to the stream. 

They prate senselessly who speak of forgotten loves or woes. 
As in neglected grave-yards, briars and weeds spring up, and 
delude the eye with the semblance of a smooth field, but when 
levelled to the roots, show the mounds they grow upon ; — so 
above buried feelings, may wave memories and affections of later 
years — until some unforeseen event cuts, like a sickle-blade, 
through their ranks, and we see, with tears, as of fresh bereave- 
ment, the graves there still ! Ida’s was a brave spirit, but it 
trembled after the temptation was withdrawn. Kichard had, 
unknowingly, been guilty of great cruelty in breaking the seal of 
her heart’s closed chamber. Gingerly as he had handled its 
precious things, he had caused exquisite pain; and for hours and 
days, she felt that the door would not shut again. It was hard 
to smile — hard to concert plans for the future welfare of others, 
when before her, was blank darkness. But the whirling chaos 
was cleared and tranquillised in time; and even Emma was 
ignorant of the storm. 

On the fifteenth of October, the heiress of Sunnybank would 
count her twenty-first birth day. The oldest negroes testified 


358 


ALONE. 


that it had been the custom in the Koss family, for an hundred 
years, to signalise such occasions with appropriate' festivities^ 
and Ida waived her wishes for a quiet visit from her friends ; and 
tried to be as much interested in the proposed illumination and 
feast as if she were not the personage to be honoured. She 
worked more willingly when the Danas wrote that they were all 
coming, the Saturday before the fifteenth, which fell on Tuesday. 
Emma’s scholars had a vacation of four weeks ; and Laura Finely 
was at the house most of her time. The two vied with each other 
in the number and elegance of the decorations of the premises. 

What upon earth I” exclaimed Ida, stumbling over a heap 
of green boughs in the back porch. Both girls screamed — 
Oh ! take care !” Ida sat down upon ^.bench, and untwisted 
a long streamer of running cedar from her ancle. 

« What is this for 

To dress the pictures and looking-glasses,^' said Emma. 

<< And to festoon upon the walls," chimed in Laura. 

And loop up bed and window-curtains," finished Emma. 

My dear girls ! if the President and suit were expected, 
your preparations would not be more formidable. Why trouble 
yourselves so much ?" 

Trouble I ^ou never incommode yourself for other people ! 
oh no !" replied Emma, in severe irony. 

^‘We love the bustle and excitement of fixing," said Laura. 

And what is there for me to do ?" questioned Ida, stooping 
over the pile. 

Nothing ! you are to play lady and hold your hands. It is 
difficult, because unusual work — but please try !" laughed Laura; 

Miss Betsey came along, with a rueful face. Miss Ida — 
there’s a dozen loaves of cake, and ever so many snow-balls wo7it 
get in the big sideboard, no how I" 

<<Put them in the light closet. Miss Betsey. I hope we shall 
be able to eat it all !" she continued to the girls. 

« Never fear !" said Emma. Your Bichmond party could 
consume it in a week. How many are there ?" 

Let me see ! Arthur, Carry and my pet — three— Mr. and 
Mrs. Dana, three children and Charley — nine. They will bo 
hei-Q to-morrow night^Ellen Morris, Monday or Tuesday. I 


ALONE. 


359 


have invited Anna Talbot and Josephine — but do not expect 
them. Then for Tuesday evening — from the neighborhood — 
Dr. Hall and lady — and a friend, who shall be nameless — ” 
pinching Emma’s cheek — the Strattons — Kingstons — Frenches 
— and oh ! I gave Charley carte-hlanche to ask any of my Rich- 
mond acquaintances — and all for what ? To hear that Miss Ida 
Ross is — ” 

^ Free, white, and twenty-one !’ ” sang Emma, cheerily. 

Twenty-one ! in four years, I shall be a spinster of a quarter 
of a century ! Heigho \” She said it jestingly; but at nightfall, 
she was pacing the porch alone — Laura having gone home, and 
Emma asleep, wearied by her day’s activity; and the thought 
returned to her. Twenty-one ! the golden sands were slipping 
fast. The sky-meeting waves upon the horizon no longer blushed 
with sunset dyes, and nodded their bright crests, in luring 
welcome; her eyes were bent upon the regular swell of the 
Present, as she glided over it. The navigation of the unknown 
seas beyond, she trusted to the Pilot, who had engaged to see 
her safely to the desired haven. It was a holy, still hour. 

Her swift step scarcely broke the silence — the firm, elastic 
tread of youth and health ; — and an unruffled spirit was within ; 
— a fulness of contentment and peace the world could not disturb 
or take away. She had conned that invaluable lesson — “ It is 
better to trust than to hope.” 

K letter, ma’am — no papers,” said Will, sententiously. 

Thank you, uncle Will. Tell James to bring a lamp into 
the parlor, if you please. I almost dread to open this !” she 
said to herself. My fears are always on the alert, to forebode 
evil to those I love. I will be courageous — will have faith 1” 
and she walked resolutely into the lighted room. But the super- 
scription sent a tremor to her heart — a minute elapsed before 
she opened it. 


THE LETTER. 

a I have come home alone, dear friend, leaving our Annie 
asleep in a foreign land. Her day of s'uffering closed in ease 
and peace ; her good night” was as calm, as though she were 
sinking into a slumber of hours, instead of ages. A lonely, 


360 


ALONE. 


stricken man, I retraced the route we had travelled in company, 
to find that I had never indeed missed and mourned her, until 
I saw her empty chamber at home. Here — I cannot make 
her dead I” Oh I the desolation of that word, when applied to 
one, in whose veins ran the same blood as in ours, who lived and 
loved with us — partaker of our individuality ! As love is 
immortal, we would believe the frail clay to which it clings, 
imperishable too. But in our grief, there is a mingling of praise 
that her rest is safe — that a merciful Father is also wise, and 
will not, in answer to our selfish lamentations, restore her to an 

existence replete with pain. 

:|£ Hi )|c * 

<< The date of the above — a month back — may surprise you. 
I wrote a fortnight after I touched my native shore ; contem- 
plating such a letter as one friend might send to another ; — 
to inform you of my bereavement, and solicit the sympathy 
none ever ask in vain from you. I was interrupted to read a 
communication which has changed — ^not the tenor of this alone, 
but the current of all my anticipations. It was from Miss 
Arnold ; an annulment of the contract between us ; a step, she 
says, foreseen from an early period of our engagement, when she 
discovered that the heart, she thought she had surrendered to 
me, was wholly another’s. I omit much that would be uninte- 
resting to you; and which, in honour, I ought not to trans- 
cribe. Briefly then — the facts stand thus. She never loved me ; 
and when the owner of her heart sued for her hand, she pledged 
it, and asked for a release from her previous vow. I have no 
inclination to animadvert upon her course — singular and incon- 
sistent as it has been throughout — but am obliged to refer to 
certain particulars, to make clear the explanation which follows. 

I have told you, Ida, that my attentions, from the begin- 
ning of our intercourse, until my conviction of your betrothal, 
were correct exponents of my feelings. I cannot deny that 
when compelled to acknowledge the uselessness of my efforts, I 
judged you harshly — was tempted to believe you an unprincipled 
trifler with my hopes, and the truth of your accepted lover. As 
my indignation and disappointment cooled before mature reflec- 
tion, my faith in your sterling integrity revived. 


ALONE. 


3G1 


Not a word had escaped me which Friendship might not 
have dictated; and your manner to me was less confidingly 
afiectionate than to Charley. You regarded me as a brother; 
and if in that capacity, any act or word of mine could conduce 
to your happiness it should not be withheld. Your committal 
of your lover’s cause to me was a powerful appeal to every 
generous feeling. I solemnly resolved then, that you should 
never regret your implicit trust. At his death-bed, my thought 
was for you and him ; at his grave, as I upheld your sinking 
form — my heart answering the heavings of yours, in our common 
sorrow — I renewed the promise never to desecrate the purity of 
your friendship, by a breath of a love, demanding reciprocation 
in that which had gone down with him into the tomb. In this 
illusion, I came home. You know whom I met here ; and that 
her surpassing loveliness, her apparent artlessness and amiability 
captivated us all. Annie loved her fervently, and threw us 
together by many innocent manoeuvres — Dear girl ! it was the 
blameless impulse of a loving heart — to unite two, who seemed 
to her hopeful perceptions to be destined for each other. I was 
amused at her fancy — then uneasy, lest it should be a restriction 
upon Miss Arnold’s kindly feelings for the brother of her friend. 
I could not wound Annie by reproof or caution ; so, after a 
while, descrying in Miss Arnold’s demeanor, a touch of the 
dreaded emWrassment, I introduced the subject in a tone of 
light badinage. I may not describe the interview ; — my senti- 
ments and bearing had been utterly misconstrued. She did not 
express this in words, but her perturbation was unmistakeable. I 
reflected upon this unlooked-for disclosure with no enviable 
emotions. I was free ; no hope ventured to point to you ; and I 
might learn to love the beautiful, tender creature, whom I had 
unintentionally deceived. In honour — in conscience — in huma- 
nity — what could I do, but tell her that, although not offering 
the deep tenderness of a first love I would cherish her as faith- 
fully, if not as fondly, as man ever did the woman he wooed 
and won ? I cannot dwell upon the untold anguish of the moment 
when the fallacy of my impressions and reasonings was exposed. 
The tempter was at my ear. Violation of my plighted word — 
the downfall of her hopes were nothing I the barrier which 

31 


362 


ALONE. 


parted us was down — ^the impossibility of our union was a 
chimera, dissolving in the beams of truth. You saved me ! look- 
ing away from our divided lives, you reminded me that duty 
here writes our title-deeds to reward hereafter — and I submitted 
to the decree. 

“ Now — dear Ida ! — but the rush of hope ebbs suddenly The 
thought that flew towards you, the moment I was freed — now, 
that the slow weeks I allotted to rigid self-examination have 
rolled by — spreads its wings as eagerly still — but — ^you ? 

« What was I to you ? what may I hope to be ? I have ascer- 
tained that you are unmarried — are you heart-free ? May I come 
to you ? Dare I say — reply at once ? I would not wring from 
you a hasty decision, but remember my suspense. May every 
blessing be yours ! 


Morton Lacy.” 


ALONE. 


363 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

Mr. G-rant, wife and sister-in-law were << dear, nice old folks, 
wlio liked to see young people enjoy themselves, prim and staid 
^though they were; and they had their fill of delight, that 
important Saturday; for three merrier mad-caps Sunnybank 
never held. Ida was the ringleader in the mirthful frolic. 

She’s so pleased ’cause Mars’ Charles is cornin’,” said 
Rachel, in a pretended aside” to Emma and Laura ; and Ida 
laughed, instead of reproving the gratuitous explanation. << I do 
want to see Charley — Bless him !” said she. 

<< Is he a very dear friend ?” asked Laura. 

« Very dear !” Ida emphasized as strongly ; — << almost on a 
par with Carry. We will have fun while he is here;” and she 
launched into a recital of some of his freaks and stories ; elicit- 
ing bursts of merriment from her listeners, which pealed even 
to the door of Miss Betsey’s room, and hurried Mrs. Grant down 
stairs, “ to hear what the joke was.” The girls were upon the 
carpet in the middle of the large parlor, nutting pink and white 
paper roses. The graceful running cedar, they were to enliven, 
draped the walls, and hid the tarnished mouldings of the old 
portrait frames ; — geraniums and mignionette breathed sweetly 
through the parted muslin curtains; but nothing was so fair in 
the dame’s eyes as the centre group. Laura was a brunette — 
black eyes, nectarine bloom and pouting rosy lips — the hand- 
somest of. the trio ; Emma’s dove-like eyes, classic oval face and 
varying complexion placed her next. Ida sat between them, 
speaking with much animation of voice and action — the glee of 
a child, and the modulations of a clever elocutionist. 

Well !” said Mrs. Grant, when the narration was ended, if 
you all aint a happy set. I’ll give up my judgment !” 

Don’t do that, I beg !” said Ida. We need it this minute, 
to tell us whether to mix these roses in the wreaths, or to dress 
this room with white ones, and the dining-room with pink.” 

Mrs. Grant set her head to one side, and her hand upon her 


364 


ALONE. 


hip. It was a serious question. << Well, I don't know exactly. 
Either way's very pretty. What do you say ?" 

Oh ! but we agreed to leave it to you. White ones look 
best by lamplight." 

iSb they do ! Well 'spose you put them in here, as the 
party meets in the parlor." 

<< Thank you, ma'am. I am of the same opinion myself." 

And I" — << and I" — said the others; and Mrs. Grant, 
pleased at having, for once in her life, expressed a decided 
opinion, << reckoned Becky and Molly wouldn't beat them beds 
half enough if she didn't follow them up." 

The impromptu <^rose case," upon which Emma and Laura 
rallied Ida, was finished before dinner; and resolving themselves 
into a committee of inspection," they visited every room in 
a body, with Miss Betsey and Mrs. Grant as rear guard. Even 
the wainscotted chambers were cheerful — snow-drifts of beds — 
and window-hangings lined with pink — stainless toilette covers ; 
painted bouquets upon the fire-screens, and real ones upon the 
dressing-tables. 

<< Sunnybank deserves its name to-day," said Emma, leading 
Ida to a window. 

The October sun was* everywhere ; playing with the laughing 
cascade which fell over the rock, at the foot of the sloping lawn; 
carpeting the forest with tesselated gold ; and the sheen of Ida's 
pine-grove was as of millions of burnished needles. 

« It is brighter here !" said Ida, laying her friend's hand 
upon her breast. ^ 

“You need not say so ; — your smile shows it. It is like 
sunshine itself." 

“ Shall I tell her ?" thought Ida. “ Not yet ! he will be here 
in a few days — and then !” — and the heart-bound threw the 
blood, in a scarlet gush to her cheeks. 

Love like hers is never selfish. When they were separating 

to dress, she called Laura into her room. Two dresses a 

rose-coloured chall4, and a white muslin were upon the bed. 
“ No thanks, dear !" she said, as the delighted creature clasped 
lier arms about her neck, in speechless gratitude. “You, who 
do so much for me and mine, deserve some token of rcgar ,1. 


ALONE. 


365 


What ! tears ! Dry them instantly, and try your dresses. Ah ! 
they fit ! I thought we were nearly the same size, — so had 
them cut by my patterns. Emma ! step in here ! Are we not 
proud of our pupil T* 

She does not require fine robes to win praise from me,^' 
said Emma. How handsome and becoming ! just what one 
might expect from the donor.’ ^ 

<< She is the best, dearest friend I have” — began Laura, smil- 
ing through her tears. 

« Hush I” said Ida, threateningly. Flatterers ! both of you I 
be oft’ and < beautify’ as Charley says. And. Laura — fto you 
hear ? don’t have eyes and dress to match ! a contrast is better.” 

The main part of Sunnybank house was capped by a sort of 
belvidere, accessible by steps from the garret. Why it had been 
built was one of Ida’s childish studies ; and the acquisition of 
other knowledge was no help to the elucidation of this mystery. 
Emma said the founder of the mansion had an astronomical 
turn, and used it as an observatory; — Laura, that it was a 
belfry, from which the alarm-bell was sounded to collect the 
surrounding settlers, when an incursion was made by the sava- 
ges ; Ida’s more matter-of-fact belief was that her ancester had 
more fondness than taste for ornamental architecture, and so 
planned this tuft to the conical crown of his habitation. On the 
birth-night, this was to be illuminated ; the brackets were pre- 
pared, and some of the candles in the sockets. Nearer and faster 
descended the darkness. Aunt Judy fidgeted from the kitchen 
to the house, and from the house to the kitchen, in mortal fear 
for the credit of her supper. Miss Betsey prognosticated upset- 
tings and wheel-breakings, and hoped the horses were sure- 
footed. That hill, the other side of Tim’s Creek was awful of 
a dark night.” 

say, girls !” exclaimed Ida, we will light the belvidere ! 
They can see it six miles off. Anything but idle waiting !” 

. She was to stand in the yard, and direct the disposition of the 
lights — Laura, Emma and Will, who thought no whim of his 
“ mistis” absurd, ascended to the roof. The breeze was at rest; 
and the rays shot forth, clear and straight, down the avenue, 

31 * 


3G6 


ALONE. 


magnifying the proportions of the fantastic roof. The others 
came out to admire the effect with her. 

Hist I” said she. Music 

But there was not a sound. 

I heard it — I know I” said she, positively. Come into the 
porch.’^ 

Another note was repeated by the hills. I said so ! they 
are coming — singing ! Isn’t that like Charley She distin* 
guished voices as they approached ; — Carry’s soft alto ; Mrs 
Dana’s soprano, — Arthur — yes ! that is his tenor — and Mr. 
Dana and Charley have the base !’' 

<<The tune changes !” said Emma. A^ld Lang Syne — oh ! 
how sweet !” 

Ida’s eyes were streaming, — herlieart aching with joy. The 
carriages — two — and a buggy, drove up to the door ; and with a 
scream of rapture she lifted Carry to the ground, — not knowing 
who came next — only that they were all there. All ! no ! where 
was Charley ? She stopped upon the steps ; Elle holdingto her 
dress; one hand in Carry’s, the other upon her guardian’s arm. 

<< Charley ! where are you ?” 

Here !” with a muster-roll intonation. He raised her 
fingers to his lips — an unprecedented action with him — and 
holding them still, looked over his shoulder. « Here is a gen- 
tleman who is afraid you will shut your doors upon him, for 
coming without a special invitation.” 

<<Mr. Germaine!” thought Ida, fearfully,; — but his was not 
the figure that emerged from the shade, — nor the warm grasp, in 
which Charley, with a movement full of grace and feeling, placed 
her hand; — nor his the voice that said — I do not doubt her 
hospitality, but my deserts.” 

<< Do you forget your friends, that you expect a similar fate, 
Mr. Lacy ?” said Ida. 

His actual presence was the roseleaf upon the mantling cup 
of bliss. It did not overflow ; — tumultuating passions were stilled 
into a calm, delicious ecstacy. She was more composed than 
she had been at any time since the reading of the letter, — saw 
everything, thought of everybody. Carry and Emma went up 
stairs arm in arm, and Ida, her baby namesake, folded to her 


ALONE. 367 

heart, was following Mrs. Dana, when she recollected Laura. 
She was standing, alone and overlooked, in the hall. 

Here, Laura ! I confide my darling to your keeping. 
Gently ! don’t wake her. Is she not a lovely babe 

“ Beautiful !” said Laura, in proud gratification. 

The sleepy childrens’ suppers were brought up, and they 
were snug in bed before their elders were prepared for their 
meal. The gentlemen were in the yard, looking at the belvidere, 

« Your beacon puzzled^us considerably,” said Charley to Ida. 

It appeared to be upon the summit of a huge, shapeless height. 
We thought we had lost our road and wandered ofi" to the 
Enchanted Mountains.” 

<‘Or that a remnant of Ghebers had an asylum among these 
hills,” said Mr. Lacy. << You should have heard Charley’s 

* Fierce and high 

The death-pile blazed into the sky, 

And far away, o’er rock and flood, 

Its melancholy radiance sent !’ ” 

<<Was I the only rhapsodizer ?” retorted Charley. <<Who 
said, when a figure passed before the light — 

‘ Hafed, like a vision, stood 
Bevealed before the burning pyre. 

Tall, shadowy, like a Spirit of Fire, 

Shrined in its own grand element?’” 

Why, that was uncle Will !” exclaimed Emma. 

Amid the burst of laughter that replied, Charley pronounced 
poetry — done.” 

And having descended to real life, perhaps you do not object 
to more substantial food,” said Ida. On the way to the house, 
some one took her hand. 

<< Has my impatience offended ? I could not wait !” said a 
hasty whisper. 

No.” 

<< Am I welcome ?” 

In every sense of the word,” was the ingenuous response 
This was their plighting. 

The sun was not up, when Ida raised the parlor windows next 
morning. Above the dun zone of forest, rested another, ot 
silvery grey vapor, and higher, legions of fleecy cloudlets, from 


3b8 


ALONE. 


all parts of the heavens, hung motionless, as angels may hover, 
in rapt adoration, over the crystal walls of the New Jerusalem. 
He arose ! the bridegroom of earth and brother of time \” and 
her simile changed — as assuming roseate and golden robes, the 
expectant host wove themselves into a gorgeous causeway, by 
which he seemed to mount the heavens. So Jesus left the 
dead!’’ the Sun of Kighteousness burst His prison gates; and 
the shining ones sang the consummation of a world’s redemp- 
tion. She was reading her Bible, alternately with the resplendent 
leaf Nature unfurled this autumnal Sabbath, when a step dis- 
pelled her trance. 

Grood morning I” said Mr. Lacy. You are an early riser.’^ 

There is my reward 1” pointing to the scene without. 

May I participate, in virtue of my second-best claim asked 
he, with his own beaming smile, seating himself before she 
assented. Ida’s trifling embarrassment was transient. His beha- 
viour, open and free, as of old, had not a tincture of reserve, or 
signiflcance to indicate that he thought of their new relation. 
The beauty of our lower sanctuary ; the upper, which it dimly 
shadows forth; Annie’s sickness and death; the Christian’s 
work and hopes — were the matter of their conversation ; and as 
the rest assembled, they were spared the disagreeable sensation 
one feels at interrupting a tete-k-t§te. 

Is it time to ring the prayer-bell, Ida?” asked Emma, as the 
last loiterer came in. 

^‘1 think so. We breakfast early on Sunday mornings, that 
we may be at school in season,” she said to — Mrs. Dana. 

It was her practice to lead in family worship, night and morn- 
ing. Arthur had performed this office the evening before, and 
the servants having collected in the hall, she motioned him to 
the stand, where lay the Bible. 

1 am hoarse, he said. Lacy !’' 

The person addressed reddened slightly, but conquering him 
self instantly, did as he was requested ; and Ida, too, although, 
not so easily, lost the identity of the man in the reader, and 
was prepared to join, with solemnity and fervor of spirit, in his 
prayer. 

By Chajlcy’^ contrivance, they rode to church in the light 


ALONE. 


369 


condemned herself for the feeling of disappointment 
that fell suddenly upon her, as the school-house appeared; and 
more for the fancies which strayed — starry-winged butterflies 
into the- machinery of her morning’s duties; but her pupils were 
unconscious of the visitants. 

Is that your regular pastor ?” inquired Mr. Lacy, as they 
were driving back. 

ir-regular, rather — if you speak of the seasons of his minis- 
trations. Presiding over three — I am not certain it is not four 
congregations, he preaches for us once a month.” * 

“ Who officiates the three other Sabbaths 

<< Sometimes the pastor of the Hill-side church. The second 
Sabbath is his day in course ; but he lives twelve miles off. If 
he is among the missing, we catch up a circuit-rider, or go ser- 
monless.” 

‘ These things ought not so to bq^’ ” 

<^I know it — but they are! Who is to 'remedy them? Palm- 
branch is a free church.” 

And as often free of preachers, as of sectarianism, it seems,” 
said he. 

“ More frequently. The war of polemic debate is waged as 
furiously there, as if the controversialists owned pulpit, pews 
and people. The number of communicants of our persuasion, 
in this neighborhood, is small ; yet they are mostly persons in 
good circumstances, and able to have a church of their own, if 
they would think so.” 

They should purchase this Palm-branch. There is more 
euphony than meaning in that name, when applied to a house.” 

<< A free church, especially,” answered Ida. “ However, our 
Sabbath-school has vanquished its enemies, and may lead the 
church on to victory.” 

<< Hr. Hall awards the merits of this enterprise to you. Has 
your residence here enlarged or contracted your sphere of useful- 
ness ?” 

« Enlarged it. Not that this would be the case with most 
people. The city presents more facilities for benevolence gene- 
rally ; but my family had influence here ; and my servants 
wanted a manager. There are more deprivations than I antici- 


370 


ALONE. 


pated; the separation from my friends; want of general society; 
the dearth of books and intellectual recreations ; and last and 
worst — abridgement of my church privileges. Still I do not 
repent my removal. My happiest days have been my Sunny- 
bank life.^^ 

Because you are in your right orbit. The evils you' recount 
are not irremediable ; we will discuss them at length, some day.’^ 
This was the only reference to the future, as theirs — into 
which he was betrayed all day ; but it struck Ida dumb. She 
recovered ^er speech by evening; for she and Charley strolled in 
the garden, in close converse, until Mr. Dana sent Morton to 
warn them of the night dew. He perceived, as did the whole 
party, traces of emotion in her countenance; and Charley was 
very grave, although not melancholy. Music was proposed 
after tea ; and Ida unlocked the parlor organ, a gift to Mrs. 
Ross from her husband, and still a fine instrument. Emma 
blushed so deeply at het nomination as organist, that Ida recalled 
the motion and occupied her accustomed place. Her fingers 
wandered; and ^Mr. Lacy, bending over to adjust the book, said 
softly, Do not attempt to play, if you are indisposed.^^ She 
smiled. I am only weak and silly ; I shall be better directly.^^ 
And ere the first hymn was concluded her clear voice led the 
choristers, and the pealing chords rolled out in full strength and 
harmony. 

The bell rang for prayers. Arthur glanced at Ida, and was 
arrested in the act of rising, by seeing her wheel a chair to the 
stand, and beckon to Charley. Yet more astounded were all 
that he took it. Unclasping the Bible, he read distinctly and 
reverently, a portion of its sacred contents ; and they knelt with 
him at the mercy-seat. A stifled sob, and more than one sigh 
from surcharged bosoms, responded to his petitions; and Carry 
wept aloud at the « Amen.^^ Arthur was equally moved. God 
bless you, Charley was all he could say, as he wrung his hand. 

“He has blessed him, and us,’^ said Morton, joyfully. “I 
thought this would be the end of it, my good friend 

“Not the end — the beginning said Ida, who stood by her 
adopted brother. “ Only the beginning ! is it not, Charley ?” 

“ You were the beginning said he, smiling. “ My mind 


has been made up for some time ; but it was proper that she 
should be the first apprised of it. I was stubborn and rebellious; 
and the consistent practice of one private Christian did more to 
convict me than the preaching of the entire apostolic succession 
— Saints Paul and Peter to head them — could have done.^' 

0, Charley! you are Charley still I” laughed Carry. 

<< And always will be, I hope I ” rejoined Morton. Keligion, 
my dear Mrs. Dana, does not make but mend, the dispositon.^^ 


372 


ALONE. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

Yes ! Charley was Charley still I’^ The brothers were walk- 
ing the piazza, Monday morning; and John’s smile and 
Arthur’s laugh applauded the quaint humor which came from 
his lips, as freely as respiration of the air his lungs had inhaled. 
He was a consummate actor ; and his self-command balked the 
sharpest scrutiny when he chose ; but his spirits, this morning, 
were not feigned. Mrs. Dana, Emma and Laura made their 
appearance, and at length, Charley’s flow of talk could no 
longer delay the inquiry Where are Ida and Mr. Lacy?’' 

< Brushing the dew upon the upland lawn.”^ said Charley. 
<< Cone to ride.” 

« When did they start ?” asked John. 

Just as you shut your eyes for a second nap — luxurious 
citizen that you are. ^ When will they retarn ?’ — query the 
second. — You will see them on the top of that hill in a minute.” 

They cantered down the avenue in gallant style.- Ida was 
an expert rider ; and her escort appeared to as much advantage' 
on horseback as o^ foot. 

<< A handsome couple !” said Arthur. 

Charley made no reply. “ You do your teacher justice,” he 
said, as Ida leaped to the ground, barely touching Mr. Lacy’s 
hand. 

And more could not be said for master or pupil she 
answered, saucily. 

Morning rides are wonderful cosmetics !” he whispered, fol- 
lowing her into the hall. She snapped her whip at him, but 
those mischievous eyes were too searching, and she ran off << to 
change her dress.’' 

^^I am for a walk to the river. Who accompanies me?” said 
John Dana. Ida held the taper at which he was kindling 
a cigar — his invariable after-breakfast luxury — and the flame 
was paled by her vivid glow, as Mr. Lacy said quietly, << I will, 
sir, with pleasure.” 


ALONE. 


373 


In an Lour they returned, and the summons — Mr. Dana’s 
respects, and if you please ma’am, he wants the pleasure of 
your company in the drawing-room,” robbed her of the last 
spark of self-possession. She stopped at the door, to muster 
courage ; but her guardian had heard her step, and opened it 
from within. << I have no lecture for you,’^ he said, passing 
his arm assuringly around her. This is an event, we fathers 
have to bear, as best we may. I am fortunate that jour choice 
has my unqualified sanction. You have acted wisely, nobly, my 
daughter.” 

<‘^Dear Mr. Dana ! I feared you would think me uncommuni- 
cative ; but I did not know it myself until within a day or two.” 

<< I am advised of the incidents of your drama. Never try 
to convince me again, that^you are an unromantic young lady ! 
What is your evidence, Mr. Lacy ?” 

She had not seen, until this speech, that he was present. She 
bestowed one look upon him, and the magnetic charm of his 
smile equallized her nerves and thoughts. Mr. Dana would 
have left the room, but Morton stayed him. In succinct and 
manly terms, he thanked him for the expression of an esteem, 
it should be the study of his life to merit. I am aware, sir, 
that it is arrant boldness to ask more from your kindness ; but 
you engaged to intercede for me in another suit.” Ida looked 
up, hurriedly. The gentlemen smiled; and Mr. Lacy whispered 
a sentence in her ear. 

Oh no ! no !” she ejaculated, too soon !” 

Why ^ too soon?’ ” It was John Dana, who drew her away 
from her lover, and pushed back the shadowing curls from her 
forehead. Think of Mr. Lacy and myself as old friends, and 
speak out the language of your own warm heart. Why ‘ too 
soon,’ Ida ? Don’t you know him well, enough ?” 

Another glance was the signal for another smile. 

« Will you ever know him better ?” asked Mr. Lacy. 

I think not,” she replied. 

You don’t like him well enough, then ?” pursued Mr. Dana. 

The curls drooped over her face, and she was mute. 

Perhaps you do not like the idea of resigning your freedom 
llic very day you gain it ?” 


32 


374 


ALONE. 


No, Mr. Dana ! you hnow that is not it.^^ 

^^What then?^’ Mr. Lacy secured her disengaged hand, 
this- proposal distresses you, Ida, I revoke it without a 
murmur, and will abide your convenience, or inclination pati- 
ently ; but if it is a question of expediency, you cannot suppose 
that Mr. Dana or myself would urge a measure, we were not 
assured was reasonable and proper. Your dearest friends are 
with you — what renders delay necessary or advisable 'i” 

<^Dut what will they say?^^ 

An odd inquiry from I What potent < they ^ do you 
mean V' 

<< Carry — ^Arthur — Mrs. Dana^ — Charley — all of them.^^ 
Charley has been my abettor from the beginning. From 
him I learned your locality ; and he warranted me a friendly 
reception, if nothing more. I should not have had the confi- 
dence to propose this immediate union, if he had not favored 
my ardent wish. You trust in his judgment in other matters — 
why not now ? As for the rest of those you name — when did 
they oppose anything you advocated?^' 

<< But your friends — your mother 
Is prepared to love you as a daughter.” 

She wishes me to decide, I see said John, dictatorially. 

Therefore, silencing all disputes — the fatted calf is slain — the 
neighbors are bidden — and I, as this perverse maiden^ s lawful 
guardian — setting my face, like a flint, against wasteful 
improvidence — decree an occasion for the feast, instead of a feast 
for the occasion ; and as this must be, the sooner we are rid of 
the trouble the better. Not a syllable. Miss Ross ! you are 
still a minor ; and I will indict you for insubordination, if you 
are refractory. I am going to tell Jenny to air my white vest 
for to-morrow evening.” 

Emma, Laura and Carry were in Mrs. Dana^s apartment ; and 
when the clamour of amazement lulled, not a hand was raised 
in the negative. 

^^She deserves the best husband that can be given her;” said 
Carry, and from my knowledge of Mr. Lacy’s character, I 
expect he is almost good enough for her.” 

“ He would have been my choice from among all the gentle- 


ALONE. 375 

men of my acquaintance/' answered Mrs. Dana, <^as she and 
Charley will not make a match." 

<< Ah, J enny ! did I not say you would have to abandon that 
air castle ?" said her husband. << It was the only essay at 
match-making I ever caught you at." 

<< What is it, Laura ?" inquired Carry, as her face bright- 
ened suddenly. 

1 was thinking how strange we should have decorated the 
drawing-room with white roses, when we were not expecting 
a wedding !" 

The news spread like wild-fire over the plantation. << Young 
Mistis was gwine to be married !" and never did tidings of a 
splendid victory produce a grander jubilee. The Grants, Miss 
Betsey, and Will, as sub-steward, had the programme of the 
performances and actors; but with the crowd, the Lacy and 
Dana factions ran high, to the amusement of the wise. Aunt 
Judy's climax was reported at the dinner-table by Miss Betsey, 
who must have shared in the general delirium of pleasure, as 
this is the only authentic record of her ever having spoken in 
<< company," unless spoken to." 

< Well!' says Aunt Judy — says she — <Dany or Lacy — they's 
both mighty fine, pretty-spoken gentlemen. Either on 'em '11 
do ; but it's been a-runnin' in my headf what a mussiful Provi- 
dence 'tis, hur husband happened along, jes' when the cake riz 
nicer than any I'se made since ole Marster's weddin ! And 
young Mis' too — poor, lone, sweet cretur I ah, chillen 1 things U 
ordered wonderful 1 wonderful !' " 

Don't blush, Ida ! laughing suits the occasion better," said 
Carry, as every mouth spread at this apropos anecdote ; and she 
did laugh merrily, as well as Mr. Lacy, who had tried to control 
his risibles until he heard her. 

Ellen Morris arrived that night, attended by her brother, and 
at a feminine council, which sat until midnight, in the room of 
the bride-elect, a list of attendants was drawn up — Emma and 
Charley, Laura and Mr. Latham, Ellen and Mr. Thornton, who, 
she said, was certainly coming next day, — and Miss Kingston, 
vnc of the neighbors, with Kobert Morris. 

« Aunt Judy may well say, < things is ordered wonderful !' " 


8T6 


L 0 N E . 

said Emma. Who thought of this, a week ago ? and here 
everything is arranged, as if expressly for a marriage. ^ Not a 
screw loose or 'lacking T 

‘‘ Ida will say it is a < special Providence,^ said Mrs. Dana, 
but Mr. Lacy and Charley had a hand in it.’^ 

“ Who moved them asked Ida. Depend upon it, my 
theory is irrefutable, because true. If a delusion, it is harm- 
less and pleasant.” 

You would make puppets of us;” said Ellen. Chessmen — ' 

irresponsible for their motions.” 

<< No, indeed ! We are children, obeying a Fathers orders, 
no matter how enigmatical ; and having done our part, letting 
Him work out the answer to the puzzle. A so-called ignorant 
woman once furnished the best definition of Faith I ever heard ; 
— < taking the Lord at his word.^ It is safer to believe, than 
to argue, Ellen.” 

Aunt Judy’s aphorism was bandied about on Tuesday until 
it was hacknied. Ida feared the appearance of her ^<Bubly 
Jock;” but her prime counsellor, Will, his stalwart arms bared 
to the shoulder, to turn an ice-cream churn, said confidently, that 
she nor Miss Laura should be pestered with him that evening. 
Pve got his written bond to stay at home, and eat the supper 
that will be sent to him. Mars’ Charley and Mr. Lacy’s been 
to see him too. They came while I was there, ‘ on a sociable 
visit,’ they said, but before they went away, he was crying like 
a child — they talked so beautiful !” - 

The bridal paraphernalia was laid in array, and Emma and 
Laura tying up bouquets ; Ida directing, but not permitted to 
assist. 

Ellen cannot find that arbor- vitae surely !” said Emma. << I 
wish she had let me go !” 

Ellen burst into the room, and flinging herself into a chair, 
laughed immoderately. What has happened ?” cried a trio of 
voices. 

(( The wheel of luck has turned ! It is a ‘ wonderful ordering’ 
that brings J osephine Bead upon this, of all days in the year !” 

Josephine !” Ida seemed to behold a ghoul. She had 
invited her because propriety demanded she should not slight 


ALON E. 


377 


tlie daughter of her former guardian, after living in the house 
with her six years ; then she was fond of Anna Talbot, and a 
separate invitation was- not to be thought of. The possibility of 
her coming had not entered her mind. How could she present 
herself at the door of her, whom she had denounced as her 
mortal foe ? Emma stood aghast, and Laura in bewilderment, at 
the dismay depicted in the faces of her friends. 

am sorry for you, Ida,^^ continued Ellen ; << and if I were 
a magician, would whisk her off to Guinea in the time it would 
take me to say ‘ Presto T but if you did not feel so badly, I 
would delight in her spiteful rage, when she knows that she 
has come to your wedding — and with Mr. Lacy ! Oh ! it is 
transporting I” 

Worse and worse said Ida, sorrowfully. Unkind as she 
1ms been, I would not wound her ; and she will never be per- 
suaded that the insult was unpremeditated.^' 

^ Insult !' forsooth I who is insulted, pray, but yourself, by 
the intrusion of a woman, who has reviled and backbitten you, 
until the town cried out against her evil tongue ! Oh ! the 
shamelessness of a wicked gossip !" 

Where is she questioned Ida. 

In the north chamber. Anna Talbot, Messrs. Thornton and 
Villet came with her." 

« Charley said he asked them — and I am glad Anna is here — 
but oh ! Josephine ! and I am en disJiabille ! Emma, will you 
run up to them ? you are at home." 

Willingly." The kind-hearted girl emptied her lap of the 
flowers. 

And explain everything," said Ida. 

Yes — make all right I Comfort yourself ;" and away 
she flew. 

Her face, upon her re-entrance, boded well for Ida's hopes. 

What did she say ?" inquired the latter, anxiously. 

They were unpacking their trunks. Anna was very cordial 
— so was Josephine — for her. < We concluded yesterday, to 
come up,' said Anna. ^ Pa made a point of it, and Ida's letter 
was so kind and polite, that we finally determined to accept.' 

32 * 


378 


ALONE. 


<< And Mr. Thornton and M. Villet were so desirous to have 
some Richmond girls here said Josephine.^^ 

<^Aha!” interrupted Ellen. 

Emma continued. Anna did not notice her remark. ^ The 
maid tells me Ida is to be married 'j she said, eagerly. < What a 
trick she has played us !’ ‘ The queerest part of the story is, that 
she is more surprised than any body else,’ I answered — ^ They 
have not been engaged a week ! You know the groom?’ ” 

‘ 0 yes ! he is a noble fellow ! I am rejoiced she is to 
marry him at last.’ ” 

And what did Josephine say to this?” asked the inquisitive 
Ellen. You need not pretend you have told us all.” 

Oh ! nothing of consequence. She spoke very carelessly, — 
of his ‘ being nothing extra,’ and ‘ she is welcome to him,’ with 
no symptoms of unusual malice.” 

Maybe she does not care now, having transferred her atten- 
tions to Mr. Thornton. That harp will hang upon the willow, 
too, or my name is not Ellen Morris !” 

A note was handed Ida. 

< Ossa on Pelion piled !’ from your countenance,” said the 
volatile bridesmaid. 

Ida read it aloud. Villet is with Thornton. Will your 
plans undergo any alteration in consequence ? 

M. L.” 

Josephine is the loose screw, Emma spoke of. I would 
gladly add M. Villet and Anna to my train — 

Do it, and let her fret !” exclaimed Ellen. 

Ob, no !” said Emma, involuntarily. 

I cannot !” said Ida. She wrote upon the reverse of the 
billet — << Unless you object, the original order will be preserved.” 

There were- no happier beings present that evening, than the 
acting host and hostess, and Carry and Arthur. 

<<I had resigned myself to Ida’s perpetual spinsterdom,” said 
Carry to her schoolmates. She rejected several good offers from 
no apparent cause ; and I imagined she had a prejudice against 
matrimony.” 

<< She was very indifferent upon the subject said Anna. 

She was a mystery to many. But these deathless friendships 


ALONE. 


379 


between ladies and gentlemen, are always suspicious, and I pre- 
dicted how this one would end/^ 

Charley is delighted said Carry. 

Is that surprising V* asked Josephine, with a dash of irony. 

Hush ! Here they are !” said Anna. 

The clergyman stepped into the centre of the room. The 
fourth couple entered first. 

<^Only six attendants'^ whispered Josephine, as Charley 
appeared in the doorway. A freezing night shut her in ! through 
it she saw but two forms — a princely figure, his Antinous head 
erect in proud happiness — and the hated, injured rival, to whose 
house, curiosity and vanity had tempted her — the bridal veil 
falling in soft wreaths about her ; — his bride ! his wife ! for 
emulous groups fiocked around them. 

Oh ! how could you deceive me so V* cried Anna, catching 
Emma, as Charley led her up. Mr, Dana ! we thought you 
were the bridegroom ! The servant said — ^ Mars^ Charley Dana V 
Didn’t she, Josephine 

The frozen lips thawed into a stiff Yes.” 

Ah ! how foolish in me to forget that Molly espoused the 
^ Dana cause !’ ” said Emma. 

<^And you believed the mistress would imitate the maid’s 
example, Miss Anna?” returned Charley. <^Are you inconsola- 
ble that I am single yet?” 

No ! overjoyed ! A change has come over my desperate 
spirit, since I discovered my mistake. Come Josephine! we 
must congratulate them.” 

Josephine was immovable. (^1 never pay congratulations.” 

<< For decency’s sake !” Charley heard Anna say, angrily 
Don’t get into one of your surly humors to-night! Very 
well ! stay where you are !” and she walked off with M. Villet. 

“ That sigh — what is its interpretation ?” asked Mr. Lacy, of 
Ida, as they were watching and enjoying the lively company, 
which had none of the stiffness usual to weddings. 

Did I sigh ? it was in thought — not in sadness, then.” 

So I hoped. What was the weighty reflection ?” 

<< I was running oyer the bridals and bridal-parties I have 
attended — each marking some important epoch in my history. 


380 


ALONE. 


At Mrs. Truman^ s — Ellen^s sister — I met Lynn, and gained an 
insight into Charley’s character.” 

“ Those were pleasant data. Carry’s was next — was it not ?” 

His chosen wife though she was, she hung her head. He 
had to bend to hear the faint accents. I received a letter from 
you !” 

<< You may forget that. Go on.” 

“ Mr. Read installed his new wife, and Lelia Arnold was her 
bridesmaid. Must I forget her also ?” 

As I do — yes I” an unclouded eye answering hers. 

<< Mrs. Morris had a party in honour of her nephew’s mar- 
riage; and a series of events succeeded, which occasioned me 
vexation and trouble ; but I was not the principal actor.” 

And the secret of another, you are not empowered to reveal. 
Right ! The next ?” 

Is this !” 

Out of three of the five you have mentioned, disaster and 
sorrow have arisen. The proportion of joy in this woeful life 
is variously estimated, from two-fifths to two-thirds. So we do 
no violence to natural laws, in assuming this to be a white mile- 
stone.” 


ALONE . 


381 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

The stability of wedded happiness may be fairly tested in six 
years ; and that number has elapsed since the wedding-eve at 
Sunnybank ; — a month or two more — for hickory logs are 
heaped upon the carved andirons, and the arrowy blaze sheds a 
red glare upon a group of familiar faces : — Charley, unaltered, 
save that the benign lustre of his eye — ^formerly seen only by 
his best friends, has become habitual; — Morton Lacy, hand- 
somer in the prime of manhood than as the slender student ; 
and, her elbow resting on his knee, sits upon a low divan, his 
wife. If Time has dealt leniently with the others, he has acted 
repentantly towards her. She is younger, in face and manner, 
at twenty-seven, than she was at seventeen. Her husband’s 
equal in many respects, and treated by him as such — she has 
never endured the servile subjugation of soul, which transforms 
intelligent women into inane, mindless machines. In yielding to 
his superior judgment, when in contrariety to hers, her will has 
parted with none of its strength in the bend which proved its 
pliancy. Submission is a pleasure, not a cross. 

I read to-day of a Mr. Latham, called to the street 

Church, Baltimore,” says Charley. Is it Emma’s husband ?” 

The identical personage !” replies Ida, with pride. A high 
compliment to so young a preacher !” 

He is a man of superior talents,” pronounces Mr. Lacy ; 
ti a divine of Ida’s making.” 

Of Mr. Lacy’s, you mean — and maybe, after all, the Sab- 
bath-school is entitled to the honour of teaching him that the 
healing of men’s souls, not their bodies, was his vocation. Dr. 
Hall and I had a pitched battle whenever we met, over our 
interference with his pupil, until his trial-sermon, which was 
delivered in our church. The Doctor strode across the aisle, at 
the close of the services, wiping his eyes. < I forgive you, 
madam, and that meddling husband of yours ! My stars ! what 
a parson I was near spoiling !’ ” 


882 


ALONE. 

Does Miss Laura meet your wishes, as Mrs. Latham’s sue 
cessor ” 

Entirely. Mr. Lacy supports her authority, or the stigmo 
attached to her father’s memory would weaken her influence. 
She looks sad to-night. It is the third anniversary of his 
miserable end.” 

He was burnt alive — was h^not ?” 

“ It is supposed so. He w^s found dead — his body partly 
consumed — upon the hearth of his room. Probably he fell down 
in a drunken fit. The blow was almost too great for Laura’s 
reason. Natural affection covered the remembrance of all his 
faults. The children were taken by their mother’s relations, to 
whom he would not allow them to go, in his life-time. Laura 
has continued with us.” 

“Still a passion iox protegis ! The last time I saw Miss 
Read, she inquired what your newest hobby was.” 

“ What did you reply ?” inquires Mr. Lacy. 

“That ladies dismissed hobbies, when they were provided 
with ^ hubbies — ’ an execrable play upon words, which she may 
have construed into an ill-natured fling at her single-blessedness.” 

“ She ought not. On dit that Ellen Morris has supplanted 
me in your bachelor friendship ; and she is not likely to marry.” 

“ Any more than myself — but Ellen Morris is not Josephine 
Read. Old maids are a much-abused class of the community; 
I trust to her to redeem their character, but Josephine is a fright- 
ful counterpoise. If you had remained single V* 

“ But I didn’t !” says Ida, smiling archly at her liege lord. 
“ And you two have only yourselves to blame.” 

“ And Lelia Arnold !” subjoins Mr. Lacy, teasingly. “ There 
is another enchanting spinster, Charley.” 

Ida is grave. 

“ You observe my wife nurses her jealousy yet.” 

“I pity her, Morton ! not for losing you, — but I shall always 
think that she loved Richard Copeland as sincerely as it was in 
her nature to do.” 

“ Why dismiss him, then ?” queries Charley. 

“ She had the credit of it. In my opinion, he made her 


ALONE. 388 

discard Mr. Lacy by threats or blandishments; then punished 
her perfidy to him and others by violating his engagement.’^ 

<< An unmanly act — but a just lesson ! He is marvellously 
improved by his marriage. Was it a love-match?” 

<< I believe so. Alice is a lovely girl ; just the equable tem- 
perament to balance his flightiness. What a contrast to his 
sister !” 

Has she taken the veil ?” 

Alas ! yes ! She wrote to me, at her mother’s death, that 
< having lost both parents, and her brother’s marriage making 
him independent of her cares, she should devote the remnant of 
her sorrowful days to prayer and expiation of her sins — if peni- 
tence and mortification could atone.’ ” 

<fl/j indeed!” says Mr. Lacy. <‘Yet she is more sinned 
against, than sinning. Her remorse, much as it misguides her, 
is more creditable than her step-daughter’s insensibility.” 

< Poor Josephine !” sighs Ida. 

Why i poor ?’ ” asks Charley. You, of all people, have 
least cause to be sorry for her.” 

<< I have most, because I know her best. She is not happy — 
never was — and never will be unless her heart is changed. I 
have not forgotten the misery of a part of my sojourn with her; 
yet I honestly preferred my state to hers.” 

<< You are very unlike.” 

<^Now, perhaps — and I thought we were then; but my 
mother’s training was all that saved my disposition from adapt- 
ing itself to Mr. Read’s mould. She had no talisman. I wish 
she had a hundredth part of my happiness. A woman is so 
lonely without a home and friends I They are to us — I do not 
say to you — necessaries of life.” 

<< She can gain them,” replies Morton. You did.” 

<^To be*taught the inadequacy of perishable things to satisfy 
a soul which must live forever I” muses Ida, gazing into the 
blaze. I can apply literally that text — < Seek ye first the king- 
dom of God, and His righteousness ; and all these things shall 
be added unto you.’ ” 

There are not many who can, in a temporal sense,” says 
Charley. 


384 


ALONE. 


<<Bufc who may not, spiritually? Why will men make a 
comfortless, doleful mystery of our cheerful, life-giving, home 
Faith ? Why not think, write, talk of it ? — 

<<And act it?^^ interrupts Charley. 


Fmis. 




OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 


*^Few works of fiction bear so pregnant a title as the one which the gifted 
authoress of our own city has bestowed upon her latest offspring. The name 
is emphatic, and she has made it ‘tell.’ The work abounds with piquant 
remark and well-sustained dialogue; it has an elevating aspiration, and a 
high moral aim. Few productions of the same class at the present day are 
written with greater eloquence of diction or charm of narrative.” — Richmond 
Enquirer. 

“ From the easy, polished style, the sprightly dialogue, the matured senti- 
ments and thorough world-knowledge that characterize it, we must regard it 
as the work of one not young in wisdom or experience, whatever she may be 
in years. The scene of the story lies in Virginia, and social life in the Old 
Dominion seems to be admirably described. There are some capital cha- 
racters and many fine dramatic scenes, and the interest never flags to the 
close. We commend it as among the cleverest novels that have been written 
at the South.” — Evening Bulletin, {Philadelphia.) 

“It has confirmed ourhigh opinion of the fine talents of the authoress, and 
satisfied us that if she devote her energies to this branch of literature, she will 
win for herself a most distinguished fame. She has proved herself [the pos- 
sessor of decided genius, and in the work before us, throws its attractive 
light upon the best and purest social and domestic affections.” — Richmond 
Dispatch. 

“ Here is a novel published in Virginia in a style that challenges compari- 
son with the issues of New York and New England presses; and its literary 
character is as praiseworthy as its typographical, although the fair author, 
like the publisher, is a citizen of a State not fruitful in literature. She may 
henceforth take rank among the most successful novelists of the United 
States.” — New York Commercial Advertiser. 

is written in a spirited style and with no ordinary ability in the por- 
traiture of character.” — Presbyterian, {Philadelphia.) 

“The author is certainly a lady of uncommon ability, and a graceful and 
attractive writer. It is a work of very great interest, and if we do not greatly 
mistake, will have an extensive sale.” — Boston Traveller. 

“From the first page to the last, we have read with increasing pleasure, 
this charming narrative of a life of unmingled joy and sorrow, of trial and 
consolation, of passion and peace. The moral of the story is prominent and 

33 


2 


OPINIONS OP THE PRESS. 


unexeeption'xble j beauty and truth have clasped hands in its recital ; and we 
sincerely trust that its author will continue to wield a pen so eminently suc- 
cessful and attractive as hers.” — Frederickuburg News. 

“ This book greatly attracts our attention. It is from the pen of a Vir- 
ginia lady, and written in a style of unaffected simplicity. The commence- 
ment tells of a heart’s woe so honestly and sincerely that none can fail to 
become interested in it. Every page is an incident, and it is replete with the 
most appropriate quotations; the language is chaste and elegant ; in fact, the 
whole tale is so fascinating that it holds the reader’s mind in a firm grasp 
until its perusal is finished. It is a book which must command an increased 
sale, if merit meets with its deserts.” — Penny Post, ( Richmond.) 

“ It will be found to possess strong attractions, and leave an impress for 
good upon the hearts of those who read it.” — Watchman and Observer. 

K simple tale of real life, the heroine being an orphan, whose trials and 
vicissitudes are related in a pleasing style. ^ It has a high moral aim, and the 
author is actuated by a laudable ambition to contribute to usefulness and 
human happiness.” — Norfolk Beacon. 

“ ‘Alone’ reminds one of the ‘Lamplighter;’ but the former, if not more 
interesting, is more vigorous and individual. We recognize points in it which 
deserve high praise for their high merits. True genius alone, for instance, 
could have conceived and executed the scene between Lacy and Ida. The 
whole episode of the marriage of the widower with the young and fashionable 
Helen, is capitally given ; and its final catastrophe is as thrilling as it is 
simple and natural. ‘ Charley’ is one of the best drawn people we have met 
with in print for many a day. Ida, herself — Carry, Josephine, nurse Rachel, 
Lynn Holmes, the artist, the Dana family — indeed almost everybody intro- 
duced, even to the merest sketch, are graphic and distinct. The book is full 
of nerve, and bears marks of that true genius for whose. sake much is excu- 
sable. We can point to no recent female work as containing finer passages 
than ‘Alone.’” — Boston Post. 

“A work of imagination admirably executed.” — Christian Observer ^ 
(Philadelphia.) 

“We are prepared to endorse the high enconiums bestowed upon it by the 
press generally. It belongs to a department of literature to which the gifted 
authoress has made most valuable and entertaining contributions. She is 
known to the public as the writer of ‘ Robert Remer’s’ interesting letters, 
published some time ago in the Watchman and Observer. This book is meet- 
ing with rapid sale, and is destined to have a ‘ great run.’ ” — Stqunton 
Spectator. 

“ ‘ Alone’ is an excellent book. The characters are well drawn, the narra- 
tive felicitous, and the dialogue's skilfully and spiritedly conducted. The plot 
is simple, the purpose good, and the lessons inculcated of the highest value. 
A religious tone pervades the work. It has been read by us attentively from 
the first to the last page, and the only change in our opinion which its perusal 
has wrought, has been to heighten our estimate of the talents of the authoress. 


OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 


3 


This effort of her mind places her high among the gifted females of the South, 
and gives the promise of a brilliant and useful future.” — To-day, {Richmond.) 

“We take especial pleasure in commending this earnest, chastely written, 
and exceedingly judicious story, as one among the brilliant gems that have 
recently made their appearance. From its affectionate, heart-speaking 
* Dedication to my Brother and Sister’ to its close, the attention is riveted 
with intense and irresistible power.” — ^PMalcin’s American Courier, {Phila.) 

“ The book is one which does great credit both to the head and heart of its 
truly gifted authoress. Whilst perusing its pages, the reader is forcibly 
struck with the depth of pathos, power of thought, and elevated tone of moral 
feeling which pervade the entire narrative. The subject is well chosen, and 
all the characters ably and often eloquently sustained throughout. It bears 
the unmistakeable impress of a highly-gifted mind, and is couched in a 
pleasing style, deeply imbued with a spirit of high moral aspirations.” — 
Danville Register. 

“ A very admirable, sprightly and interesting story. Ida, the orphaned 
ward of a stern guardian, is a high-spirited, noble girl — just such a character 
as none but a true woman could draw. The other personages of the story 
are described with scarcely less intelligence, and with a degree of world- 
knowledge not often found in our lady authors. A very faithful and animated 
picture of society in the Old Dominion is presented in the successive chap- 
ters. The construction of the story is quite artistic, and the sprightly 
dialogue, as well as the excellent tone pervading it, will make it one of the 
most popular fictions of the present year .” — Philadelphia Saturday Evening 
Mail. 

“We are sincerely gratified at the favorable and highly-complimentary 
reception with which it has met at the hands, both of competent critics and 
the public, not in Virginia alone, but throughout the country. North and 
South. It is destined, we believe, from the many flattering notices it has 
already received, to have a considerable ^run.’ It amply deserves it. Its 
merits are of very high order, if disinterested professional critics are to be 
accounted competent judges. Both in its literary and typographical execu- 
tion, it is highly creditable to Southern talent and Southern enterprize.” — 
Richmond Whig. 

** A domestic story, embodying true principles of morality and religion, 
and withal, highly instructive. We hazard the opinion that ‘Alone’ will be 
found quite as interesting as the last Northern novel, the ‘Lamplighter.’” — 
Baltimore American. 

“ This is the simple and striking title of a new American story, possessing 
far more interest and exhibiting greater evidence of talent than any our lady 
writers have brought out for many a day. It is characterized by force, 
clearness and originality ; the plot developing naturally without startling 
incidents though there are clever dramatic points the authoress has happily 
seized. The morale is excellent, and we congratulate ‘Marion Harland’ on a 
most successful book, in point of merit, at least, and we also hope as regards 
favor with the reading public.” — Godey's Lady’s Booh, 


4 


OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 


A novel of uncommon excellence, certainly superior to any Virginia novel 
•we recollect ever to have read, and affording gratifying promise of future 
success and distinction. The whole tone of the book denotes the refinement 
and pure-mindedness of the young authoress. The pictures of Virginia 
country -life, with its amusements, exercises, and the habits and peculiarities 
of the people are faithfully and graphically sketched, and some of these 
sketches have all the freshness and softness of word pictures by our bes-t 
authors." — Richmond Examiner. 

“‘Alone’ is from the pen of a lady of Richmond, who has acquired a very 
gratifying reputation from other publications of less length. It is plainly 
discernible from the present volume, that the fair authoress is not a novice 
in the construction of dramatic narrative. ‘ Alone’ is a book of great merit, 
and we recall portions which display a thorough knowledge of that art which 
enters so largely into the character of every tale-teller — we mean the art of 
the raconteur. We have seldom met with a work of this kind more gracefully 
put forth. We commend it most_ cordially to the whole community.’’ — 
Southern Literary Messenger. 

" “She writes in an easy, flowing style, and with that freedom of expression 
which so peculiarly characterizes Southern writers. If this be her first pro- 
duction she gives the highest promise, and a wide reputation is easily within 
her grasp.’’ — Boston Evening Gazette. 

“There is genius, pathos, humor and moral in its charming pages ; much 
knowledge of human nature, and power to delineate character. It cannot 
fail to bo read with deep interest by all who have true feeling and warm 
sympathies. As a work of fiction it is one of the best we have read in many 
a day.’’ — Nero York Observer. 

“It is an interesting story, and displays talent in its design and execution. 
The religious element in character is largely dwelt upon ; and persons who 
do not entirely sympathize with the author’s creed, see much that is good in 
the earnestness and force with which the necessity of serious religious prin- 
ciple at the bottom of action is dwelt upon. The scenery of this tale is laid 
at the South, and the peculiar institutions come in as a matter of course, but 
are not treated in a way to give it at all the character of a partizan book.’’ — 
Boston Advertiser. 

“ ‘ Alone’ comes from the sunny South, and is the publication of a young 
lady of talent and promise, who needs only the fostering of a liberal public 
to enable her to take rank with the highest galaxy of modern female authors.” 
— Boston Transcript. 

“‘Aloxe.’ By Marion Harland. Published by A. Morris, Richmond, Va. 

“We are indebted to the publisher for a copy of this late issue froih his 
press. It is decidedly the best work of its kind that has been issued for a 
long time, and is one of the very few novels that should find admittance to 
the family circle. The book is gotten up in a style that reflects great credit 
upon its publisher.’’ — Wytheville ( Fh.) Telegrajih. 


OPINIONS or THE PRESS. 


5 


‘“Alone” is the unique title of a work from the pen of Marion Harlan d, a 
lady of Richmond, Va., and sent to us by the publisher, A. Morris. We com- 
mend it to our readers as a chastely and beautifully written work, presenting 
many truthful pictures of the human heart. The character of Ida, as there 
portrayed, gentle and affectionate, forms a striking contrast to that of Jose- 
phine, malicious and revengeful. The pure and elevated tone which pervades 
the entire work is a sufficient recommendation.” — Milton {N. G.) Spectator. ' 

“ ‘Alone.’ — We ask attention to the criticisms of this favorite novelette, as 
found in our advertising columns. We have not had an opportunity of read- 
ing it, but from the kind reception it has met at the hands of the press, the 
uniform approbation it has secured, and the numerous editions it has already 
passed through, it is fair to infer that ‘Alone ’ stands far above the light 
literature of the day, in its style and general detail. A. Morris, Publisher, 
Richmond.” — Frederickehurg ( Va.) Herald. 

“ ‘ Alone.’ By Marion Harland. Richmond : Published by A. Morris. 
1854. The fair author of this tale is a resident of the city in which it is pub- 
lished. It has met with extraordinary success, considering the very short 
period which has elapsed since its appearance, and the unheralded, unobtru- 
sive character of the writer. It is thrown forth into the literary gulf to sink 
or survive by its own qualities. It avouches to be ‘ a simple tale of life, and 
of truthfulness to nature.’ We take it to be such, notwithstanding the well- 
known peccadilloes of this species of author-craft, and give it the merit of 
substantial reality, with the allowable substitution of fictitious for real names, 
and the less veracious introduction of fancy-coloring to embellish the picture. 
It is, in our judgment, far above the level of that class of books to which it 
categorically belongs. It displays decided genius, unusual fertility of inven- 
tion, a sparkling vivacity of expression, a natural aptness of interlocution, a 
ready delineation of character, and a picturesque descriptiveness of scenes • 
Many passages exhibit a masculine power of conception combined with femi- 
nine sentimentality. The morale of the book, we regard, as good, and many 
of its religious sketches as extremely truthful and touching. At the same 
time, we are compelled to say, that some of its conversational sallies are too 
strongly marked by passion and hyperbole, and that the chapter on the Rocky 
Mount meeting, appears to contain a sarcastic fling at revivals of religion. 
As a specimen of native female talent, it is undoubtedly creditable, and will 
be read with a lively appreciation of the intellectual activity which pervades 
it, and the piety it inculcates, maugre the satire on the preachers and pro- 
ceedings at Rocky Mount. It has reached its third edition.” — Methodist 
Quarterly Review, South. 

“Alone. — This book, written by a Virginia lady, who had appeared in the 
literary world under the signature of ‘ Marion Harland,’ and brought before 
the public under the auspices of A. Morris, the Richmond publisher, has 
already entered its third edition. 

“We have read no novel which we can so heartily commend to the puhl\?/ 
as ‘ Alone.’ The scenes and incidents of the story are laid in.Bic&oiond and 

33 ^ 


6 


OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 


^ts immediate neighborhood. The style is easy and graceful, the story is well 
planned, natural and life-like in its conception, and teeming with interest in 
its details; while a vein of rich and cheerful humor and an overflowing sym- 
pathy pervade the entire work and sparkle upon every page. As the story 
progresses, so in accordance with the transactions of every-day life are all its 
representations, that its characters seem to rise into life and gather about us, 
.winning our love by their open frankness of disposition, or repelling us by 
their want of generous feeling and their exhibition of narrow selfishness. 

“ But the superior merit of this book does not consist merely in the interest 
of the story, with its glowing thoughts and exquisite fancies; not in the faith- 
ful portraiture of life and delineations of character; not in the voices of 
sympathy constantly falling like music upon the heart to quicken its better 
feelings; nor yet in its unwavering adhesion to what is right and proper in 
itself; but above all this, shining forth and giving new beauty to all that is 
attractive in human character, the purity and simplicity and loveliness of 
Christian principles breathe their ennobling spirit in every line. For none of 
its characters, however much they may be possessed of amiability and native 
excellence and however sweetly there may well up from their true hearts a 
constant, full and generous sympathy — no character is perfect till the gentle 
influences of a true and loving faith come in to purify the affections, subdue 
the will, hold in check the less worthy and quicken the better emotions and 
feelings, giving to each a sweetness that cannot fail and crowning all with a 
glory that never fades. 

“ ‘ Alone ’ should be in the possession of every family, for unlike most other 
w'orks of fiction, it is not forgotten so soon as the interest of the plot is un- 
folded, but it impresses itself upon the mind, leaving the reader better in 
heart and feeling than it found him .” — Lexington ( Va.) Gazette. 

“Alone. By Marion Harland. Richmond : A. Morris. Third edition. 

“This is a Richmond book. Written by a Richmond lady, published by a 
Richmond house, and the scene is in Richmond. For these reasons mainly 
we have read it. It is a work of the imagination, moral in its tone, and 
aiming to set forth the subduing, transforming, and elevating influences of 
religion in its teachings. We may mention these points without approving 
its sentiments, or the mode of inculcating them. It was for none of these 
things, however, that we looked into the volume. We were looking into its 
literary merits, its style of composition, its indications of the powers of the 
authoress, as a citizen of our goodly metropolis. The volume is well written, 
the style simple, graceful, natural ; sometimes bold and striking, with fine 
powers of describing persons, scenes and scenery; and a beaming out of the 
higher, and nobler impulses of feeling and passion, promising a future of 
fame, if we could only say usefulneae, to the gifted authoress.”— 

F«., Christian Advocate. 

“<Alone.»— We are indebted to the publisher, A. Morris, of Richmond, 
for a copy of this interesting work. It is the production of a young lady of- 
that city, and is alike creditable to the head and heart of the gifted author- 


OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 


7 


ess. It is an admirable story of Virginia life — the characters are well drawn^ 
the dialogues are sprightly and spiritedly conducted, and a moral and reli- 
gious tone pervades the entire work. No one can rise from its perusal, with- 
out feeling that he has been in close communion with an intellect of no 
ordinary ability. It is one of the best works of fiction we have ever read, 
and its pages will amply repay a second perusal. The book has had a con- 
siderable “run,” having already passed through three editions. Marion 
Harland may be justly placed in the very front rank of American female 
novelists. May her success through life be commensurate with her merits.” 
— Bedford ( Fa ) Sentinel. 

“ Alone. By Marion Harland, 

“ Is the title of a novel from the pen of a Virginia lady, recently issued 
from the press of A. Morris, Richmond. We know of no publication of 
recent date which has commanded such universal admiration. It has already 
passed through three editions, and the fourth will no doubt soon be exhausted. 
The fact that it is the emanation of southern mind should be enough to pre- 
possess the Virginia reader in its favor. Unlike the great mass of similar 
productions, it has not the slightest taint of immorality. Indeed, its high 
I moral tone, no less than its stirring incidents, commends it to universal 
I favor. We think that Mr. Morris deserves great credit for encouraging 
' Virginia authors by the publication of their works. ‘ Alone’ has been gotten 
i up in handsome style. Mr. Morris is quite extensively engaged in the pub- 
lishing business, and southern publishers ought to be encouraged in prefer- 
ence to northern abolitionists, who can do the business no better.” — Tobacco 

■ Plant, Clarheville, Fa. 

“ ‘Alone by Marion Harland, author of ‘Robert Remer’s Letters,’ ‘ Kate 
Harper,’ ‘Marrying through Prudential Motives,’ Ac., <fec. A. Morris, 
publisher, Richmond, Va. Third edition. 384 pages. 

' “ The publisher has forwarded us a copy of the above work, neatly bound 

in cloth, in the best style of modern workmanship. The fact, that it has 
already gone through three editions, is sufficient evidence of its merit. We 
' call attention to the notice of this book in our advertising columns. Those 
who desire to obtain a copy, will address the publisher as above. We cannot 
[ lend our copy — it is too nice a book to be spoiled — it was a gift, and we 
f intend to preserve it. — Truth Digest, Woodstock, Fa. 

■ “‘ Alone :’ by Marion Harland. Richmond. Published by A. Morris. 

“ This beautifully printed and published volume we have read with unflag- 
ging attention. There is genius, pathos, humor and moral in its charming 
pages j much knowledge of human nature, and power to deliiieate character. 

; The scene is laid in Richmond, Virginia, and while the work will have 
I peculiar attraction to those who recognize characters or scenery, it cannot 
i fail to be read with deep interest by all those who have true feeling and 
j warm sympathies. As a work of fiction, it is one of the best we have read 
I in many a day.” 


8 


OPINIONS or THE PRESS. 


“ ^ Alone : ’ a Virginia novel, published by A. Morris, Richmond. 

“We have received from Mr. Morris a copy of the above work, and have 
read it with great satisfaction. The characters are well drawn, it abounds 
with pleasant incidents, and there is throughout the whole story a deep 
current of piety, which will commend it to the religious part of the commu- 
nity. It is written by a Virginia lady, and we predict for the fair authoress 
a brilliafit career.” — Abingdon Virginian. 

“‘Alone.’ — We are indebted to the publisher, A. Morris, of Richmond, 
for a copy of this work, the production of Miss Marion Harland, of that 
city. After the many very flattering notices which we had seen of it from 
the press, we had expected to find it one of the over-rated pets of ‘ the trade’ 
— one of the ‘hot pressed darlings’ of the diny, puffed up secundem artem, in 
order to make it — sell. We have been, however, totally and agreeably dis- 
appointed. It is anything else than a pretentious book. On the contrary, 
it abounds from the first to the last page in the genuine displays of genius. 
The story is well conceived and its incidents happily developed. There is 
nothing strained or unnatural about it, but the narrative flows on smoothly 
and harmoniously through all its windings from the point at which it com- 
mences to the closing scene in which it is lost. Miss Harland has won for 
herself, by this novel, more than an ephemeral reputation. She has contri- 
buted, through its thirty-three chapters, much to the cause, not only of 
literature generally, and sowiAeni literature in particular, but to the cause of 
virtue. The pages of ‘ Alone’ are equally adorned by the intellectual and 
the moral graces, and it gives us great pleasure to testify, in these terms, to 
its merits. We gladly welcome its appearance, and hope that it is but the 
precursor of others, which will still further enhance her claims to public 
favor.” — Petersburg Intelligencer. 

“ ‘ Alone.’ This is the title of a new novel, by Marion Harland of Vir- 
ginia, and published by A. Morris, Richmond. It is destined to take rank as 
part of our classic literature, when much of the trash that now floods the 
country shall have passed away and been forgotten. 

“It is a tale of domestic life, of sorrows and of joys, of trials and of 
triumphs. We have never read any work of fiction in which the beauty and 
the purity of the principles of Christianity, as applicable to the every-day 
affairs of life, were as strongly set forth as in this. We have but little skill 
to discourse in the technicalities of criticism, but we have found in this 
book incident enough, and wrought together with sufficient skill to enlist 
our feelings and enchain our attention from beginning to end; and we ven- 
ture the opinion that no one will read it without wishing a hundred times in 
the course of its perusal, that he was not only a Christian in the ordinary 
acceptation of the term, but that he could always act under the influence of, 
and in obedience to the most rigid and self-denying precepts of Christianity. 

“We advise everybody to read it— the women particularly.”— (Corner 
Stone, Columbus, Oa. 


A LIST OF BOOKS 


PUBLISHED BY 


JtiL I£! ^ 

No. 97 MAIN STREET, RICHMOND. 

i. 

Tate’s Digest of the Laws of Virginia, which are of a permanent 
character, and general operation; illustrated by judicial decisions; to 
which is added an Index of the names of the cases in the Virginia 
Reporters, by Joseph Tate, Esq., Counsellor at Law, 1 vol. large 8vo., 
$11 60. 

Tate’s Analytical Digested Index of the reported Cases of the Court 
of Appeals and General Court of Virginia, from Washington to 2nd 
Grattan, inclusive, with a reportorium of the cases, systematically 
arranged, by Benjamin Tate, Esq., Counsellor at Law, 2 vols. 8vo. 
price reduced to $8 00. 

Tate’s American Form Rook, new edition, containing legally ap- 
proved precedents for Agreements, Arbitrations, Assignments, Bonds, 
Bills of Exchange, Promissory Notes, Conveyancing, Letters of At- 
torney, Receipts, Partnerships, Releases, Transfers, Wills, Deeds in 
Trust, and other matters of importance; with a complete Index to the 
whole; to which is added a supplement containing Forms of Deeds, 
of Bargains and Sale, Leases,’ Trust and release, under the new Code 
of Virginia; also forms of Attachment under same; modes of holding 
to Bail under the Acts of 1851 and 1852, and other forms valuable to 
Clerks, Attornies, Notaries, Sheriffs, and Coroners; with an Index, by 
Alexander H. Sands, Counsellor at Law, in one royal 8vo., price 
$1 50. 

“ This hook when originally brought out met with an extensive sale, 
by reason of the many valuable forms it contained, which were equally 
applicable to all the States of the Union, and its author was justly 
considered as having performed a great public service in compiling it. 
Richmond Whig. 

Such a work has Ihng been needed by the profession, and even 
more by the community at large, especially by those who reside in 
the country, or wherever legal advice is not easily procured. 

The peculiar value of the New Edition, in its adaptation to the ex- 
isting Statute provisions of the Code . — Richmond Times." 

We do not know that a publication of more value in the practical 
affairs of life has been made within a number of years. Every man 
who owns property or expects to acquire it, ought to buy the book. 
Richmond Dispatch. 

Joynes on the Statute of Limitations, upon the act of the Gene- 
ral Assembly of Virginia, passed 3d April, 1838, entitled an Act 
Amending the Statue of Limitations, and founded on the English Sta- 
tute of 9 Geo. iv. c. 14, with a preliminary enquiry into the LaAv O'f 
New Promises under the Statute of Limitations, by Wm. T. Joynes, 
Esq., United States District Attorney for the Eastern District of Vir- 
ginia. 1 vol., 8vo., $2 50. 


10 


A List of Books Published by A. MORRIS, 


Tucker’s Commentaries : Commentaries on the Laws of Virginia, 
comprising the substance of a course of lectures delivered to the 
Winchester Law School, by Henry St. George Tucker, Chancellor of 
the Fourth Judicial Circuit, in 2 vols., 8vo.j third edition, price re- 
duced to $8 00. 

Interleaved Copies, 2 vols., 8vo., $12 50. 

Washington’s Virginia Reports. — Reports of cases argued and de- 
termined in the Court of Appeals of Virginia, by Bushrod Washing- 
ton, second edition, corrected and revised, 2 vols., 8vo., $5 00. 

Tucker on Pleading. — The Principles of Pleading by B. Tucker, 
Professor o^ Law in the University of AVilliam & Mar/. $2 00. 

Tucker on the Science of Government. — A series of Lectures in- 
tended to prepare the student for the study of the Constitution of the 
United States, by Beverly Tucker, Professor of Law in the University 
of William & Mary, Virginia. $2 50. 

Robinson’s Forms. — Forms adapted to the practice in Virginia, by 
Conway Robinson, vol. 1, containing Forms in the Courts of Law in 
Civil Cases, nett $7 00. 

Robinson’s Practice. — The Practice in the Courts of Law and 
Equity in Virginia, by Conway Robinson, vol. 3 — vols. 1 and 2 out 
■print. $6 50. 

Modern Probate of Wills. — Containing an analysis of the Modern 
Law of Probate in England and America, with numerous references to 
the English and American cases, with copious extracts from the lead- 
ing cases, by Geo. W. Read, Esq., of Virginia, Counsellor at Law, 1 
vol., 8vo., price $5 00. 

Virginia Cases. — A collection of cases decided by the General 
Court of Virginia, chiefly relating to the Penal Laws of the Common- 
wealth, commencing in 1789, and ending June term, 1826, with ex- 
planatory notes and index, by Judges Brockenbrough and Holmes, 2 
vols., 8vo. $6 00. 

Call’s Virginia Reports. — Reports of cases argued and determined 
in the Court of Appeals of Virginia, by Daniel Call, from 1806 to 
1825, which fills up the entire space of Virginia Reports, from the 
foundation of the Court of Appeals to the commencement of the Re- 
ports of Ilening and Munford ; vols. 4, 5, and 6, 8vo., nett $15 00. 

Call’s Virginia Reports, vols. 1, 2, and 3, with notes and references 
to subsequent decisions and overruled cases, by Lucian Minor, Esq., 
Counsellor at Law, $15 00. 

The Statutes at Large of Virginia, (new series,) from October ses- 
sion, 1792, to December session, 1806, inclusive, being a continuation 
of Honing, by Samuel Shepherd, 3 vols., 8vo., $7 50. 

Garnett, Ex’r of Brooke, vs. Macon, et al. — The opinion of Chief 
Justice Marshall in the c.ase of Garnett, ex’r of Brooke vs. Macon, by 
Joseph Tate, Esq., Counsellor at Law. 50 c. 

“ The subjects involved in the opinion being of great and general 
concernment wherever the principles of the Common and Chancery 
Law of England prevail, and the ability with which they are exa- 
mined, induced me to believe that its publication would be acceptable 
to the profession ." — The Editor’s Preface. 

V : 


No. 97 Main Street, Richmond. 


11 


Suppl6lil6iit to tll 0 Kovisod Codo of the Laws of Virginia, being a 
collection of all the Acts of the General Assembly, of a public and 
permanent nature, passed since the year 1819, with a general Index, 
to which are prefixed the Acts organizing a Convention, the Declara- 
tion of Rights, and the Amended Constitution of Virginia, $2 50. 

Taylor’s Inquiries. — An Inquiry into the Principles and Policy of 
the Government of the United States, comprising new sections under 
the following heads: I. Aristocracy; II. The Principles of the Policy 
of the United States and of the English Policy; III. The Evil Moral 
Principles of the Government of the United States; IV. Funding; 
V. Banking; VI. The good moral principles of the Government of 
the United States; VII. Authority; VIII. The mode of infusing 
Aristocracy into the Policy of the United States ; IX. The Legal 
Policy of the United States. By John Taylor, of Caroline County, 
Va., 1 vol., 8vo., sheep, $2 60. 

Dew’s Lectures. — Lectures on the Restrictive System, delivered to 
the Senior Political Class of William & Mary, by Thomas R. Dew, 
Professor of History, Metaphysics and Political Laws in the University 
of William & Mary, 1 vol., 8vo,, muslin, $1 00. 

Howison’s History of Virginia. — A history of Virginia from its 
discovery and settlement by Europeans to the present time, by 
Robert R. Howison. Esq., 2 vols., 8vo. Volume 1 contains the history 
of the Colony to the peace of Paris, in 1763. Volume 2 contains 
the history of the Colony and of the State from 1763 to the retroces- 
sion of Alexandria, in 1847, with a review of the present condition of 
Virginia, $3 50. 

The press has been lavish in its praises of this work of Mr. Howi- 
Bon, and it is now justly considered the best extended History of the 
State published. 

De Hass’ History and Indian Wars of Western Virginia. — A His- 
tory of the Early Settlement and Indian Wars of Western Virginia, 
embracing an account of the various Expeditions in the West, previous 
to 1795; also Biographical Sketches of Col. Ebenezer Zane, Major 
M’Culloch, Lewis Wetzel, Gen. Daniel Broadhead, General Andrew 
Lewis, Capt. Samuel Brady, Col. William Crawford, Andrew Poe, and 
other distinguished actors in our Border Wars, handsomely illustra- 
ted ; by Wills De Haas, Corresponding Member of the Maryland and 
New York Histqrical Societies, $2 25. 

Sketches of Virginia, Historical and Biographical, by the Rev, 
Win. Henry Foote, D. D., Pastor of the Presbyterian Church, Romney;^ 
Virginia, 1 vol., 8vo., cloth, $2 25. 

Homer’s Iliad. — Translated by Wm. Munford, of Virginia, 2 v.ols., 
8vo., cloth, $4 00. 

Virginia Selection of Psalms and Hymns, and Spiritual Songs ; 

from the most approved Authors, adapted to the various occasions of 
Public Worship and Social Meetings, of the Baptist Churches South, 
in three parts: Parti. Various subjects systematically arranged; 
Part II. Adapted to particular occasions ; Part III. Peculiar to the 
order of Public W’^orship, by Elder Andrew Broaddus, 1 vol., 32mo., 
beautifully printed on fine paper and handsomely bound in various 
styles of binding; sheep, plain, 50 c. 

This book is in very general use in the Baptist Churches South, and 
is regarded one of the best compilations extant. 

Dover Selection of Spiritual Songs, with an Appendix of choice 
Hymns, compiled by the recommendation of the Dover Association, 
by Andrew Broaddus, 37c. 

A very popular and highly esteemed collection in Virginia. 


12 


A List of Books Published by A. MORRIS. 


Crozet’s Arithmetic. — An Arithmetic for Colleges and Schools, hy 
Claudius Crozet, State Engineer of Virginia, late President of Jeffer- 
son College, Louisiana, Principal of the Richmond Academy, and 
formerly Professor of Engineering at West Point, 1 voL, 12mo., bound, 
50 cents. 

This Arithmetic has received the most decided approbation of 
teachers and distinguished Mathematicians, and is regarded by many 
of them as the best elucidation of the reasoning principles of the 
science of numbers ever published, and is recommended as by far the 
best Arithmetic now in use, 

Burke’s Latin Grammar. — The rudiments of Latin Grammar, « 
founded on the definitions and rules of Thomas Ruddiman, to which 
is annexed a complete system of Prosody, by Wm. Burke, Principal 
of the Richmond Academy, 25 c. 

Randolph’s Virginia Reports. — Reports of cases argued and deter- 
mined in the Supreme Court of Appeals in Virginia, by Peyton Ran- 
dolph, vol. 6, $5 00. 

Howe’s Historical Collections of Virginia. — Over one hundred 
Engravings, with a sketch of the District of Columbia, by Henry 
Howe, 1 vol., 8vo., sheep, $2 50. 

The Speeches of Thomas Marshall, of Fauquier, Jno. A. Chandler 
of Norfolk County, Henry Berry of Jefferson, Charles James 
Faulkner of Berkely, Thomas J. Randolph of Albemarle, James 
McDowell of Rockbridge, delivered in the House of Delegates of 
Virginia, in 1832, on the policy of the State with respect to her slave 
population, 1 vol., 8vo., board, 50 c. 

Alone, by Marion Harland. 1 vol., 12mo., $l 25. 


A. MORRIS has in Press, and will shortly publish the following works : 

A History of a Suit in Equity, and of an action at Common Law, 
adapted to the practice of Virginia, by A. H. Sands, Esq., Counsellor 


at Law. 


The Practice in Courts of Justice in England and the United 
States, by Conway Robinson, of Richmond, Virginia, Vol. 1, as to 
the place and time of a transaction or proceeding, treating chiefly of 
the conflict of laws and the statute of limitation. 

Digest of the Laws respecting Real Property, generally adopted 
in the United States j by John Taylor Lomax, LL.D., one of the 
Judges of the General Court, and formerly Professor of Law in the 
University of Virginia ; ^embracing all the important statutes and 
decisions down to 1854. Second edition, in three vols., 8vo. 



























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